


Of Feathers and Bone

by Apassingstory



Series: Sending a Raven [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Cliche, EWE, Eventual Romance, F/M, Forced Bonding, Hogwarts Sixth Year, M/M, Past Child Abuse, References to Depression, Slow Burn, canon typical death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2020-09-30 21:53:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 169,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20454122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apassingstory/pseuds/Apassingstory
Summary: Voldemort begins to suspect Snape in sixth year and sets a trap to capture him and the Boy Who Lived. His plans don't work as well as he hoped and instead force Harry and Severus to learn to live with one another. Snape is outed as a spy, changing the course of events in a few important ways. *Please note everyone is aged up a year.*





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not the owner of these characters, they belong solely to J.K. Rowling, and I am making no money off of this work.

_I’m sending a raven_   
_Black bird in the sky_   
_Sending a signal that I’m here_   
_Some sign of life_

_I’m sending a message_   
_Of feathers and bone_   
_Just let me know I’m not forgotten_   
_Out here alone_

  
-Sam Tinnesz, Far From Home

Firelight flickered across the cluttered room, reflecting golden on delicate curves of glass, wandering through swirling vials of silvery smoke and skipping along shelves and cabinets packed with curious instruments and baubles. It glanced off small half-moon spectacles and lit up the faded blue eyes that rested behind them. A soft rustle of fiery feathers mingled with the crackling of the hearth, adding a strange echoing depth to the noise. The gentle eyes slowed more and more with each line of cramped writing they traced, blinks growing longer, thin stooped shoulders rolling forward as they followed the slight tilt of the old man’s neck.

A thick layer of quiet descended on the dimly lit room, muffling the soft breathing from the canvases of past headmasters.

The shuddering rumble of a statue shifting broke the peace and jerked the man upright, his snowy white beard tumbling over the ancient pages spread across the large desk as he blinked in brief confusion at finding himself still in his office. A moment passed before the clear sound of boots being placed with controlled anger echoed up the stairs and against the thick wood of the office door.

Albus sighed and straightened, trying to convince his spine that it was twenty years younger and hadn’t spent the evening bent over a desk. A wrinkled hand smoothed his cheerful lime green robes down just as knuckles collided with his door, the rapping somehow managing to sound both impatient and put upon.

“Come in Severus.”

The heavy door was shoved open, admitting a tall man in severe black robes.

“There’s something wrong with Potter,” the Potions Master grumbled in lieu of a greeting. He stalked across the room; his dark eyes narrowed with suspicion as if Albus was deliberately hiding something from him. Since he was correct, Albus chose not to address the look that should have left his beard singed.

Albus motioned for Severus to sit as he waved his hand absently in the direction of the cold tea tray, causing steam to rise suddenly from the spout. The pale man gave him a small sneer with no heart behind it before sinking into one of the large mismatched chairs in front of the desk. The warm scent of Earl Grey filled the air as Severus steepled long fingers in front of his chest.

“And what has the boy done now?” a faint note of concern colored the mild words.

Severus frowned at the older man. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? I hardly think that nothing qualifies for a visit at such an hour,” Albus responded, whitewashed eyebrows climbing. He was confident that he had never in all of his years had this particular Professor complain about a student not misbehaving.

Severus let out a frustrated huff. “I believe it does. Do you know how many detentions I’ve given Potter this term?”

Dumbledore shook his head, a mild frown having crept across his face. Now that he thought of it, Severus hadn’t come to complain to him about Harry yet this term, which sadly was very unusual. Typically it took less than a week before his Potions Master tried to knock holes in his door to yell about something Harry had said or done. The boy seemed to have an unrivaled ability to rile the temperamental man, as well as the unfortunate inclination to use it.

“None. I haven’t given the boy a single detention, nor have any of the other Professors. I’ve barely taken any points from the boy, either.” Severus’ face settled into an unfamiliar expression that Albus took several moments to decipher as deep suspicion warring with a somewhat unsettled concern.

“Well my boy, I hardly think that’s cause for concern,” he said, though the disquiet in his eyes gave lie to his jovial tone.

Severus snorted “Really Albus? It’s been two months since the start of the term and the boy has been a shadow. You cannot pretend you haven’t noticed. He barely eats, he looks as if he hasn’t slept since he arrived, and I haven’t once caught him sneaking about the castle.”

Dumbledore paused and gazed down at his chaotic desk in thought. He had to admit he too had been worried about Harry. Severus was right, of course, the boy wasn’t acting normally, though Albus did not doubt that his spy had noticed it before anyone else, he was not the first of the staff to bring it up.

“I shall speak with him again, Severus. I believe that he is taking the death of his Godfather particularly hard and perhaps needs more time. He at least seems to be maintaining normal interactions with his house, though he has been surprisingly civil to Mr. Malfoy this year,” Dumbledore finished thoughtfully.

A harsh sneer appeared on the thin face at the mention of Sirius Black, but Severus nodded reluctantly. He waved away Albus’ wordless offer of tea as he swept to his feet, black robes swirling dramatically. Dumbledore eyed the bottom of the man’s clothing. He had always suspected that Severus cast an exceptionally mild featherweight charm on the hems of his robes, but he knew that man would die before he admitted it.

“Very well. How is your injury?” Severus asked as he prepared to leave.

“Oh as well as can be expected. Your most recent potion is very effective at blocking any pain from it, though I must admit I almost shut my hand in my wardrobe this morning. I fear it blocks all sensation, not just pain.” The Headmaster looked oddly cheerful at this as if it were terribly entertaining to close one’s appendages in one’s furniture.

The Potions Master frowned again. “Perhaps if I chopped the angelica instead of mincing it…” He trailed off as Albus waved dismissively.

“No need, Severus, I assure you this is quite satisfactory,” the older man said with a small smile.

The tall man looked troubled but turned without a word and stalked out with the same reserved grace with which he had stalked in, the heavy door clicking shut centimeters from the last flick of black cloth.

The Headmaster sighed softly to himself. He would need to speak with Harry again soon if things were poor enough to prompt Severus to approach him. He had thought that the boy would have started to move on, but the events of several months ago seemed to cling to him, dragging him down. With another heavy sigh, Albus hefted himself up and climbed slowly toward his bedroom, lost in thought.

* * *

Black robes snapped crisply around his ankles as he marched down the stairs, back toward the chilly isolation of his dungeon rooms. Severus hadn’t wanted to approach Albus; he had been convinced that Potter’s behavior was just one more way for the boy to gain attention. Play the sad, pitiful hero, and everyone would go out of their way to coddle him further.

Two months of it and Snape was ready to drag the boy out of his seat and shake him to get a reaction. Potter was a shadow of himself. He didn’t argue, he didn’t talk back, he was always on time for class, and his essays were never short and never faltered in their complete mediocrity.

Snape’s mind turned back to earlier in his afternoon Defense class, filled with the volatile mix of sixth year Slytherins and Griffindors. Potter had failed to cast a moderately complex shielding charm on himself and had stood there watching burns etch their way into his arm from the acid hex that Parkinson had managed to hit him with. Snape only noticed when Granger had yelled and rushed over to stop the damage.

Severus had appeared, enraged that the boy would take his martyrdom to such levels and, in desperation, had done the one thing that had never failed to get a rise out of Potter.

“Just like your father, Potter. I see he managed to pass on his poor defense abilities as well as his arrogance. Perhaps if he had bothered to work harder, he would have been more effective at saving those he cared for,” he had said, putting more scorn into his voice than he usually would.

Granger had gasped sharply and stepped forward as if to shield the idiot boy from him. Potters hand wrapping gently around her arm halted her. For just a moment, Snape saw the expected fire flash in green eyes and almost crowed in triumph before Potter seemed to suddenly slump in on himself, his eyes going blank and flickering to the ground.

Snape ground his teeth in rage. How dare he keep up this ridiculous charade. Wasn’t it enough that the boy had invaded his pensieve? Did he genuinely expect Snape to feel _sorry_ for him?

It took Snape a moment to realise that the boy hadn’t moved. He was just standing there, messy black hair and too thin, gaze turned blankly to the tips of his worn out trainers. A worm of doubt struggled through him as the boy waited for Snape to finish berating him. This was not Potter. This was not the angry child that screamed back at him, that tried to hex him and gave just as good as he got. A sickening feeling crept through his chest at the accusing glare Granger leveled at him before she turned and gently led Potter back to his seat as if he were something breakable.

Severus shook his head slightly and looked around, finding that a few of his snakes were giving him looks of moderate disapproval. A scowl crashed across his face, and he spun toward the front of the classroom as he snarled, “Class dismissed. Do not forget your essays on the uses of shields are due next week.”

He had spent the remainder of the day locked in his private lab, brewing simple potions for Poppy to give his hands something to do as he thought. By the time he was done, it was half eleven, and he had known he had to talk to Dumbledore, and if he didn’t do it tonight, he would have talked himself out of it by morning.

Severus sighed as he descended the last of the stairs that would lead to his rooms, the cold, dank air and prevailing gloom of the dungeons reaching up for him like an old friend. The meeting with the Headmaster had not gone as he had hoped. Albus seemed much less concerned than Snape felt he should have been since it was his Gryffindor golden boy that was acting so out of character.

He had settled into a set of warm pyjamas and was roaming his rooms, idly searching for a book when a flaming brand lit and burned its way across his left arm. Snape sucked a thin breath through his clenched teeth as he doubled over, curling his body protectively around his arm. He focused on the worn blue rug in front of him, trying to follow the faded whorls with his eyes as he rode out the pain, air trickling into his lungs. His thoughts flickered for a moment to Potter, standing still and watching acid magically etch itself up his arm. Snape briefly found himself rather hysterically wondering how the boy would handle the Dark Mark.

After several minutes the worst of the pain had passed, and Snape slowly straightened, swiping a shaking hand over his face and leaving a smear of liquid from his watering eyes. He only gave himself a few more seconds before he moved quickly to gather his gear and hurry from the castle to answer the Dark Lords summons.

* * *

Snape strode down the dimly lit dungeon corridor, long legs covering the distance from his quarters to the stairs. Echos from his boot heels cracked through the cold air, his black cloak barely adequate to ward off the freezing air. The sparse pools of flickering torchlight illuminated his face in flashes as he moved, distorting it into a grotesque mask, twisted in a perpetual sneer. The corners of his beetle black eyes were tight; the only indicator of the pain still radiating up his left arm.

As he hurried toward the empty great hall and front doors, apprehension curled in his stomach. The Dark Lord rarely called him so frequently. He had been to a gathering the week prior and did not expect a summons for at least another month.  
Thank Merlin, the castle was dark, students long since settled into their dorms. Not even Potter and his band of miscreants would be out roaming this late if Potter suddenly took it into his head to venture through the castle again.

The entrance hall was dim, flickering with only a few candles, inky darkness blanketing the worn edges of the ancient stones. Soft mutters from portraits lent a whispering backdrop as if the castle itself was imparting quiet secrets.

Snape approached the smaller door inset into the huge entrance hall doors and shouldered it open, the sleeve of his black wool robes catching on the wood. Cold November air bit into his face, making his eyes water and his lungs burn. He cursed the Dark Lord for forcing him out into this weather, in the wee hours of one of the rare nights he might be tired enough to sleep. He wrapped his cloak more tightly around his thin frame, shuddering as he thought longingly of his warm bed, or at the very least his scarf and perhaps some gloves. Not that his soft grey scarf would have been allowed. Snape snorted, his thin lips twisting in dark amusement as he imagined the ridiculous, fluffy scarf that Albus had bought him tucked under the edge of his death eater mask. It would be almost worth it to see the look on the Dark Lord’s face. Though regretfully, he would only enjoy it for a moment before he was cursed into an equally fluffy pile of ash.

He shook his head, dark stringy hair slipping over sallow cheeks, and banished the thought, starting the process of clearing his mind. It would not do to have the Dark Lord digging that image out of him, or any of the secrets he kept locked away. Pausing for a moment, he pulled his occlumency shields up, sinking all his revulsion, hatred, and fear under his carefully built walls. The Dark Lord expected to look into his mind and see his most loyal poisoner, so that was who Severus had to give him.

He built himself into the death eater he had once been, proud and insecure, hated and hating in equal turns. He let the feelings of his past wash over him, embracing the awful pieces he had tried to banish long ago. With a deep breath, Snape opened dark eyes to grounds bathed in icy moonlight, not realising he had closed them. He moved quickly past Hagrid’s hut, keeping his steps soft so as not to alert Fang.

Snape flicked his wand as he approached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, summoning his Patronus.  
“I have been summoned,” he sighed as he gazed into the brightly glowing face of his doe, knowing that Albus would understand the situation.  
“Do not relay the message until Albus is alone” He added quickly. Not that he expected the Headmaster to have company at this hour, but he hadn’t been a spy for so long to start getting sloppy now. He paused for a moment, watching the doe streak away toward the castle before he turned sharply on his heel and apparated away, the soft crack echoing over bare, empty branches.

* * *

Snape appeared just outside the wards of Malfoy Manor, the frozen grass crunching under his boots. He strode through the open gates, an intricate work of iron glazed in ice, glancing over the dark grounds for any evidence of others arriving. The winding front drive and gardens were silent and sparkling with soft frost, the manor dark and cold. A shiver of unease traced its way up Snape’s spine and settled in a tight knot of muscles on the back of his neck. He could feel his tendons pulling taught, fear dancing in bitter waves across the back of his tongue.

The walk up the drive seemed to end with supernatural speed, and he stopped at the very edge. The tips of his boots barely touched the line where gravel met sweeping stone, like a child toeing careful feet along with meaningless divisions. For a moment, he could do nothing but stand dumbly and stare at the ostentatious porch, wondering if he would ever see it again.

Snape took a slow, steadying breath, watching it plume out in a warm mist, and finally mounted the front stairs. The back of his hand lightly brushed over the emergency portkey sewn into the lining of his robes. The slight weight calmed him, reminded him that if everything went utterly pear shaped, he had at least a slim chance to escape.

The large, heavy carved doors swung open as he approached, nothing visible but shadowy darkness beyond. Snape stepped into the hall, moving forward with the kind of confidence that only a man who had long ago accepted death could claim.  
A small shivering house elf of indeterminate sex stood in the cavernous front hall waiting for him, a compact glowing orb of bluish light hanging over its shoulder. White marble shot through with glittering grey veins shown with a soft luster, the floors devoid of rugs. Above him hung a huge ornate chandelier, twice the size of a man, terrible in its gaudy crystalline glory. The only furniture was a thin table to the left, adorned with a pale blue vase filled with roses from Narcissa’s greenhouse.

“Master Snape will follow me please,” squeaked the solitary elf as it turned and shuffled quickly down the right hand hall.  
Snape followed dutifully, keeping his eyes on the back of the elf’s head, trying to ignore how the blue light gave everything a sickly cast. Maybe this is what ghosts saw, he idly mused, colors replaced with sharp reliefs, an oddly surreal quality to everything.

The Potions Master was brought out of his musings as they arrived at an inconspicuous door. If he recalled correctly a small but comfortable study lay beyond. He felt a frown stretch over his face as he considered why the Dark Lord would be meeting him in such an intimate setting.

Before he could think of any plausible reason that didn’t make him want to flee, the small elf pushed the door open.  
“Master Snape is being here, your Lordship. Does you be needing anything else of Bimby”? It inquired, long thin fingers twisting together in anxiety.

An unpleasantly high voice spoke from a large chair in front of the fire.  
“No, remove yourself from my presence and ensure that no one disturbs us,” Voldemort commanded.

The elf bowed low and closed the door behind itself with a soft snick. Snape felt privacy wards snap into place as the Dark Lord raised a spidery hand to wave him nearer.

The room was small but well appointed, a deep burgundy carpet lending warmth to the area. Two dark brown leather chairs were set the ideal distance in front of a small flickering fireplace with a low table between them, which held a steaming tea service. Light brown curtains covered the single window, a writing table set under it with a quill and full bottle of ink atop. A bookcase covered the far wall from the window, and oddly all the portraits appeared to have been removed recently, slightly darker rectangles of paint giving away their previous locations.

Snape quickly crossed the room, sinking to his knees and bowing his head to Voldemort.  
“My Lord, how may I serve you?” he said softly, his deep baritone a rolling contradiction to the Dark Lords hissing pitch.

Voldemort said nothing for long minutes. Snape was used to these games, though, and while a younger death eater would surely repeat his question or fidget, he knew better. He waited, mind blank, the grain of the luxurious carpet slowly cutting into his knees, his spine radiating pain at the carefully held angle.  
A deep, almost disappointed sigh came from above before the Dark Lord spoke.

“Tell me, Severus, what news do you have of Dumbledore’s movements?” he asked.

“None My Lord, to my knowledge, he has not left the castle since last we spoke,” Snape said carefully.

“I have had reports from reliable sources that he was seen two nights ago leaving by floo from Hogsmeade late in the evening. Tell me, Severus, how could you have missed such a trip?” Voldemort asked with deceptive softness.

“My Lord, you have my most sincere apologies, two nights ago, I was asked by Dumbledore to brew extra potions for the hospital wing in preparation for the turning weather. I was told the stocks had run dangerously low due to an accidental spill.” Snape said quickly, sweat gathering on his upper lip. “I spent most of the night in my lab,” Snape stated as a sick feeling tightened his stomach. For once, he was telling the complete truth to the Dark Lord. Why would Dumbledore seek to distract him from his movements? Had he somehow lost the man’s trust? He clenched his fists to hide the sudden tremor in his hands.

Voldemort misinterpreted the expression that stole over his face as panic that he could have failed his Lord. His voice had less of an edge when he spoke again.

“Severus, despite this mistake, you have served me faithfully for many years. Your work has been invaluable to our cause.” Voldemort hissed softly, finally seeming to come to the point of his summons. “I believe it is time you were rewarded for your sacrifices. After all, you have been forced to live for so long among those who are lesser even than you.” cruel satisfaction at the insult leaked into his words.

“My Lord, service to you is honor and reward enough. I would ask nothing of you but to allow me to continue to further our great work,” Snape said, not daring to look up to see how his words were received. This meeting was not going at all as he expected, and Severus did not like the unexpected. It rarely ended well for him.

A soft chuckle sounded above him. “You always have had a serpent’s tongue, Severus. Never the less you will be rewarded. Give me your left hand.”

Snape finally raised his head as he stretched his left hand out to lay it in the upturned palm, the Dark Lord. He desperately wanted to snatch it back as soon as the back of his hand touched the dry, icy skin, but he knew if he showed any hesitance, the Dark Lord might decide to remove his hand for his reluctance. It wouldn’t be the first time he had maimed someone for showing anything other than blind obedience.

Fast as a striking snake, the Dark Lord grabbed his fingers in a crushing grip as his other hand, previously buried in the folds of his robes, whipped out and snapped a glinting bracelet onto Snape’s bare wrist.  
Snape forced himself to stay still as he felt the bracelet bite into his skin, sending burning fire sliding through his veins. He choked and sagged as the flame sped up his arm into his chest and caught like napalm. His vision greyed at the edges, and a strange echoing thrum beat through his ears.

It must have metal teeth on the inside, he thought faintly as he felt something grinding against the small bones in his wrist, blood running in red rivulets over his dark mark. There was something horrifyingly fitting in watching his blood stain the grinning skull, the serpent twisting wildly as if the coppery liquid excited it. He dry heaved, clenching his teeth so tightly his jaw ached.

After minutes that felt like hours, the pain started to recede to a manageable level, leaving him feeling achy and ill but at least able to move. Snape straightened with difficulty, wiping a line of spittle from his chin and pulling deep, shaky breaths in through his nose as he raised himself back to his kneeling position. The Dark Lord had released him to the floor while he was trying not to lose consciousness. His face ended up far closer to the thin legs covered in rich black robes than before. A dry, faintly reptilian scent permeated his nose, mixing unpleasantly with the sickly sweet tea Voldemort preferred and settling in the back of his throat.

Drawing in a shaking breath and trying not to retch again, Snape murmured, “Thank you, my Lord, for the gift, I am truly honored.”

Voldemort’s high laugh rang out, shattering the silence of the room like shards of broken glass, doubling the pounding pain in Snape’s head. He swayed slightly, struggling to remain on his knees. He knew what kind of punishment he would face if he were to show weakness, and he did not think he could make it back to Hogwarts with the added drain of the cruciatus curse.

“I am pleased you like my gift Severus. I wished to show you how much I value you. The bracelet ties you more closely to me, more so than any of my other faithful,” the Dark Lord said, satisfaction evident in his voice and faint glint of suspicion in his red eyes. Snape knew abruptly what this was, and his stomach rolled. He didn’t know what he had or hadn’t done to cast doubt on himself, and it scared him almost as much as the bracelet.

Snape suppressed a shudder, “I am most honored, My Lord” he uttered again, shock keeping him frozen on the spot and preventing him from trying to claw the horrible thing off of his wrist.

“That will be all Severus. You will inform me of all of Dumbledore’s movements in the future. I’m afraid if you do not, I would be forced to remove the mark of my favor” he hissed with a significant look. Snape doubted he would survive it coming off.

“Of course, My Lord. I will not fail you,” Snape said tightly as he staggered to his feet.  
Snape made his way haltingly to the door. Just as his hand closed on the silver knob, Voldemort spoke again, “Please do remember Severus not to try to remove it. You would find the results to be rather unpleasant.”

“Of course not My Lord. I have no desire to remove it,” Snape assured him as he made his escape into the dark hallway.

Snape stumbled several steps into the inky blackness before he caught himself with a hand braced on the wall. His breath came in sharp painful gasps as he fumbled for his wand. His long fingers finally closed around the smooth wooden length, and the hall filled with gentle wavering light of his silently cast Lumos.

He made his way to the front door, a steady drip of blood marking his passage. It took him two tries to rip a strip of cloth from his robe to wrap around the bracelet and the torn skin underneath. He did not dare try a healing spell on it. A shaky wave of his wand and the splashes of blood were banished before he slid out the front doors and into the predawn light.

* * *

Harry rolled over again, twisting his sweaty sheets more securely around his legs. He kicked at them, trying to free himself but only succeeding in trapping himself more thoroughly. He had only slept a few snatches, plagued by the recurring dream of Sirius falling through the veil. Unlike the memory, where Harry watched and was unable to reach him, Harry stood in front of him, his hand reaching out to Sirius. Instead of grabbing his robes and pulling him to safety, he planted his hand in the middle of his Godfather’s chest and shoved. He always woke just as the expression on Sirius’ face changed from confusion and panic to pained betrayal. He knew it was just an ordinary nightmare; he could tell the difference now, too late to be useful. Even though it was not a vision, it was no less horrifying, and he couldn’t manage to get back to sleep after.

He heaved a heavy sigh as he stared up at the canopy of his four poster, the closed red curtains creating a small private island in his dorm. He could faintly hear Ron snoring in the bed next to his and considered briefly waking him just to have someone to share his sleepless misery. It’s not like Ron hadn’t had a good amount of sleep, he thought sourly, Harry had listened to his snoring all night.  
Harry cast a quick Tempus, the glowing numbers informing him that it was a quarter past five, and he would have no chance of getting any sleep anyway. After some undignified thrashing, he finally managed to free himself and scrambled out of his bed. He pushed his curtains open quietly, getting dressed in jeans and his warmest Weasley jumper in the feeble dawn light.

He grabbed his gloves, scarf, and Firebolt as he slipped downstairs. The common room was silent and chilly; the house elves had not been in to light the fire yet. Harry moved on stocking feet to the portrait hole, his shoes wadded up in a bundle with his cold weather flying gear. Once he was through, he paused to slip on his trainers, hopping in place as he balanced on one foot, holding his broom awkwardly.  
“And what are you doing out so early young man,” the Fat Lady asked, her eyebrow raised in amusement at his balancing act.

“Just off for an early flight. We did well in the last game, but we wouldn’t want to lose our edge,” he said, forcing a half smile for the nosy portrait.

“Right you are Mr. Potter, perhaps next time rouse Mr. Weasley to accompany you. We must keep our lead!” the Fat Lady declared with satisfaction and far more volume than the conversation required.  
With a last graceless stomp, Harry finally managed to get his second trainer on and took off down the hall.  
“Be sure to use a warming charm. We wouldn’t want you catching your death,” the Fat Lady called out as he headed down the staircase.

Harry raised a tired hand in acknowledgment and wrapped his scarf around his neck, tying it off and tucking the ends under itself. He drew in the first relaxed breath he had experienced all night as he loped down the stairs, the high ceilings glowing with pale gold light. He loved the castle in the early morning. It had a particular hazy potential to it like the world hadn’t settled in yet and was still undecided on the course the day would take.

He paused at the base of the grand staircase, briefly torn on sneaking into the kitchens and begging a cup of tea, but decided it would be more welcome after an hour in the cold. He moved through the silent entrance hall, unknowingly tracing Snape’s path from a few hours prior.

Harry pushed the inset door open, stepping out into biting cold, the grounds lit by pale pink streaks of dawn. It looked to be a clear day, one of the first that spoke more of winter than of autumn. He hopped down a couple of steps before slinging his leg over his broom and kicking off gently. He soared at a comfortable pace toward the quidditch pitch, gaining height slowly as he moved through his initial warm-up routine. He looked over the sleeping castle and the black lake, covered in a fine layer of mist that raced in smoky patterns over the top of the water. The edge of the lake sloshed with gentle waves, rippling evidence of the giant squid stirring in the depths. The silence was broken by the echoing call of a lonely water bird, gliding into land in the rushes with a flash of white feathers.

Harry picked up speed, falling into the familiar loops that worked his arms and shoulders, the muscles slowly loosening as they warmed.  
He was almost to the outer wall of the pitch, coming out of a tight spin that made his hips ache with the effort of keeping himself flush with the broom when he spotted movement on the edge of the forest.

Harry paused and hovered, watching to see if perhaps one of the inhabitants needed help. It was not uncommon for something to be injured and crawl itself to Hagrid’s hut for healing. Harry sucked in a sharp breath as the figure resolved into a tall man, heavy robes and cloak sweeping behind him. He would recognize that particular stalking walk anywhere; after all, Snape had ensured that every student he had ever taught had an unpleasant, visceral reaction to billowing robes. Harry felt the first stirrings of anger in his chest, the sight of the man reminding him of the humiliating berating in Defense that day before.

Harry’s eyebrows drew down in a frown as he saw that the normally smooth glide was stilted, his stride shortened. Realisation dawned and his face twisted in a snarl. Snape had been out with the Death Eaters. That was the only possible reason he could have for sneaking out of the forest at this hour and injured as well. Harry unconsciously flew closer, his height enough that unless Snape looked almost directly up, he wouldn’t spot him.

Harry turned his broom and started to drop toward the ground; half formed plans of confronting the man flitting through his head before he slowed and gently pulled up. Doubt filled him, dragging over his mind in a swirling fog like it had every day since Sirius had died. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know what Snape had been doing. He couldn’t trust himself to make those kinds of calls anymore. He had always relied on his instincts, and he had been so sure he was right, that Sirius was in danger, only to find that he was wrong in the worst way.

Harry watched with narrowed eyes as Snape staggered slightly on his way to the front doors, his boots and cloak weaving a dark trail through the frost. Snape paused at the doors, seeming to need to brace himself for a moment before he slipped inside. Harry hesitated for a second with indecision, thinking perhaps Dumbledore should be alerted, before turning back to the pitch and resuming his flight.

* * *

Snape hurried down the dungeon stairs, trying to get to his quarters before he fell unconscious in the middle of the corridor. He badly needed a blood replenishing potion, the strip of cloth he had wrapped around his wrist was soaked through, as was the entirety of the left arm of his button down and robe.

He stumbled into the small statue of Ares that rested on a plinth just in front of the blank stretch of wall that hid the entrance to his private rooms. With an unusual lack of grace, Snape twisted the statue past the normal quarter turn needed to access his rooms, facing it fully to the wall instead. He felt a soft click as the spell to alert Dumbledore was triggered. The statue was one of their built-in fail safes, sending an alarm to the Headmaster if Snape feared he was compromised. Dumbledore would know to speak to him carefully until they could check him for spells.

He dragged himself through his comfortably shabby sitting room and into his lab, leaning heavily on his worn work table, knocking over several empty glass vials as he jarred the surface they rested on. He grabbed the potions he needed from the shelf that held his personal store and downed them in quick succession. He dropped bonelessly onto a nearby stool and closed his eyes, waiting for his potions to work.

He buried his face in his hands, pushing the heels of his palms almost painfully into his eyes, trying to get a hold of his roiling emotions. Questions assaulted him. Why would Dumbledore not inform him he was leaving when he knew that the Dark Lord had commanded him to report back? Where had he gone that required him to floo in the middle of the night from outside of Hogwarts? And most of all, what in Merlin’s name had the Dark Lord linked him to with blood magic?

He was reasonably certain the bracelet couldn’t detect his thoughts. He was accomplished enough at guarding his mind that he would have felt an intrusion, but there was every possibility it could transmit sound, a record of spells cast, even possibly images. He couldn’t risk reporting in his typical way until they knew what it did, and Voldemort, the complete bastard that he was, had cast on it before Snape arrived, giving him no idea what the spells might be.

Snape finally lowered his hands, dark spots blooming erratically across his vision as his eyes adjusted to the sudden lack of pressure. He blinked owlishly at his lab, noticing for the first time the broken vials on the floor and the cauldron shimmering softly under a stasis spell he’d thrown on it before going to leaving last night. For a moment, he couldn’t even remember what he had been brewing.

He sighed heavily as he tried to vanish the glass shards and frowned when they only rolled sluggishly around. He turned to his wrist and slowly started unwrapping it, hoping that the clotting potion had been effective. He was feeling more steady, though the dizziness had been replaced with a kind of bone deep weariness that he only felt after expending large amounts of magic.

Snape dropped the sopping wet strip of cloth to the floor where it landed with a wet splat, blood spraying out and forming a grotesque halo around it on the stones. He pulled a face before banishing it and turning to study his newest shackle, his magic moving sluggishly.

It was a simple silver band, plain but tasteful and thick enough almost to be a cuff, the edge barely covering the bottom of his dark mark. The spikes on the interior had retracted, and it shifted easily on his wrist, just loose enough to allow for the full range of movement without a chance of slipping off. It had no seam, not that he expected it to. The thing he found strange was the complete lack of markings. He frowned at the bracelet as he stretched his magic out to it, cautiously feeling around the edges. He felt a certain fuzziness he equated with concealment charms, and without thinking, he pushed a little harder. For just a second before blinding pain screamed up his arm, he saw a flash of deeply carved runes, then the floor rushed upwards as blackness took him.


	2. Chapter 2

_So may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten_   
_Sons could be birds, taken broken up to the mountain_

-Iron and Wine, Upward Over the Mountain

Harry rushed into the dorms just as Ron was coming down the stairs from their room.  
“Hey mate, where were you? ” Ron yelled up as Harry ducked past to change into his uniform.

“Flying!” came the distant reply as Harry quickly stripped out of his sweaty jumper and t-shirt. His glasses had fallen off when he yanked his shirt off, and everything had developed a soft fuzzy quality. He moved carefully, groping around for his dropped glasses. His fingers grazed cold plastic, and he snatched them up, stuffing them on his face, and turned quickly to grab a clean shirt from the wardrobe he shared with Ron. With a sudden muffled crash, Harry tripped over Seamus’ boot, sitting in the middle of the room, the only remaining evidence of a brief but fierce retaliation against Ron’s seemingly constant need to sigh Lavender’s name.

Harry dragged himself up, his glasses sitting askew on his face as he blinked down at the offending shoe. He scooped it up, intent on returning it to its owner.

“Bloody hell Seamus, I almost broke my nose,” a shirtless Harry appeared at the top of the stairway, staring accusingly at a startled Seamus across the common room. A chorus of giggles erupted from a group of fourth years standing by the portrait hole at his appearance. Harry flushed and flung the boot at Seamus before he ducked back into the dorm, not waiting to see if his throw connected.  
“Well, he’s in a mood,” muttered Seamus, bending to pick up his boot, before he shouted, “Sorry mate, Ron was being a bit of a wanker.”

“Hey, now, I was not. Minding my own business I was, when your bloody great boot came out of nowhere,” Ron protested, rubbing a sore spot on the back of his shoulder as he made his way into the common room.

Seamus rolled his eyes as Dean and Neville shook their heads, faces cast with identical looks of mild disgust.

Harry finished dressing in record time, hurrying down the stairs and skidding to a halt in front of Ron. “Hurry up, we’re gonna be late for breakfast,” Ron said as he grabbed his bag and headed toward the portrait hole. Harry followed him with a resigned look. He was still upset with Ron over how he had treated Hermione, even if she was being unfair about the match. Besides, he was just as tired of listening to Ron go on about Lavender as everyone else was, and as best mate, he had the unique honor of hearing every single detail.  
He could feel a headache coming on already, and he hadn’t even started classes. He groaned quietly to himself as he realised he had Defense first thing this morning, and he could likely look forward to a hex or two flung his way, peppered heavily with criticism and insults, especially if Snape felt as bad as he had looked that morning.

“You alright, mate? You look a bit….” here, Ron trailed off and pulled an awful face instead.  
“Thanks for that,” Harry said with a flat look at his friend. “Didn’t manage much sleep last night, and I just remembered we have Snape first thing this morning. Which reminds me, I saw him coming out of the forest when I was out flying,” he reported with a raised eyebrow, hoping to distract Ron from his sleeping habits.

They made their way into the Great Hall just as Ron opened his mouth, the look on his face clearly showing the whatever Snape related wisdom he was about to impart should not be uttered in public. Harry gave him a look, at which Ron shut his mouth with a snap and headed toward their usual spot at the Gryffindor table.  
A shriek cut through his confusion, “WonWon!” Lavender scrambled up to pepper Ron’s face with kisses as if she hadn’t spent all of the previous evening snogging him in the corner of the common room. Well, that at least explained Ron’s quick exit from the chance to heap abuse on their potions master.

A crash drug Harry’s attention away from the horrifying sight of his best friend trying to climb inside of Lavender Brown’s mouth. Hermione stood several seats down from where they usually sat, her plate broken on the floor. She shot a hurt look at Harry before gathering her books and hurrying out of the hall.  
Ron didn’t seem to notice Hermione’s exit, but Professor McGonagall did. “Mr. Weasley, Ms. Brown, if you could kindly seat yourselves and let the rest of us resume our breakfasts, not all of us enjoy a show with our eggs,” she called out from the high table.  
Ron jerked back like he’d been stung, his face slowly turning the same shade as his hair, and slunk to his spot on the bench. Lavender, seemingly unaffected, followed along behind him.

Harry shot a grateful smile up at his head of house and received a genial wave of a fork as McGonagall returned to her conversation with the Headmaster.

A frown fell over Harry’s face as he looked along the table and realised that a specific greasy headed git was missing. A trickle of unease crept over Harry. Perhaps Snape had been more injured than he had initially appeared.

Breakfast forgotten, Harry moved toward the staff table just as Dumbledore got up to leave. Harry caught up to him as he walked toward the Great Hall doors. “Professor,” Harry called. Dumbledore turned to Harry, his eyebrows arching in question. “Harry, my boy, what can I do for you? ” the Headmaster asked genially.

Harry motioned toward the now relatively empty entrance hall and strode after Dumbledore as he crossed the hall and ducked into an empty classroom just off the first branching corridor.

Harry shut the door behind him and turned to Dumbledore, who had wandered off between the empty desks. The room was smaller than the typical classrooms and felt disused. The desks looked worn, many with carvings and scorch marks across their surfaces.  
“What seems to be the problem, my boy? “ Dumbledore asked, his eyes crinkled as he smiled.

“It’s Snape, sir,” Harry said. For just a second, Harry thought he saw a flicker of surprise in the softly twinkling blue eyes before it disappeared.  
With his healthy hand, Dumbledore traced a name carved into the desk nearest him as he replied, “Whatever do you mean, Harry? I can only assure you so many times that Professor Snape is not planning something nefarious,” stressing Snape's title, a hint of warning in his tone.

Harry hesitated, trying to decide the best way to proceed without sounding like he was accusing Snape. “No, sir, it’s nothing like that. You see, I was out on the Quidditch pitch this morning and saw him coming back to the castle. He looked like he might be injured, and when he didn’t show up for breakfast, I thought I should tell you,” he finished, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

A startled look settled on Dumbledore’s face before he smoothed it out into something that looked suspiciously like satisfaction. “Well then my boy, you’ve nothing to worry about, Severus contacted me last night before he left. I was just on my way to see him. I’m sure he’ll be up and about in time to get to class, but I’ll be sure to tell him you asked after his health,” he said with what Harry thought was a slightly evil twinkle in his eye.

Harry blanched as he imagined how terrible his term would become if Snape knew he had seen him and thought he was mocking him. Snape had been particularly awful the last couple of months, and he honestly wasn’t sure if he would come out intact if it got any worse.  
“oh, no need for that, Professor,” Harry responded hurriedly. “Well, erm, I should be going, classes, you know,” he trailed off awkwardly, thoroughly regretting his impulsive need to tell Dumbledore what he’d seen.

“Before you leave, could we speak for a moment?” Dumbledore asked as he settled himself comfortably on the edge of a nearby desk.

Harry moved reluctantly away from the door and took a seat on a chair that looked like it had met Seamus on a bad day. He knew this would be another in a long line of similar conversations. Professor McGonagall had already caught him twice this term, Dumbledore once, Hagrid every other week during tea and even Flitwick had corned him to inquire very carefully about how Harry “was holding up.” He was thoroughly tired of it. He knew he was acting differently, but how could he not be when he had been shown exactly what kind of horrible consequences his anger and his habit of leaping before he looked had?

“How are you doing, Harry? Truly?” Dumbledore said softly, concern lacing his voice.

“I’m fine, Professor. I know that no one seems to believe me, but I am alright,” Harry replied, frowning down at a small hole forming in the leg of his oversized jeans.

“It is not that we do not believe you, Harry, it is simply that you seem less yourself and several of your teachers have expressed their concerns. I know it must be difficult with all that happened last year, but if ever you need to talk, I would be happy to lend the ear of a tottering old man.” The Headmaster finished with a gentle smile.

Harry twisted uncomfortably in his seat. “Thank you, Professor,” he hesitated for a moment before continuing in a rush. “I just don’t want to make the kind of mistakes that hurt people.”

“Dear boy, I’m afraid you will find, especially in times such as these, there is always the potential that a choice we make will hurt someone. It is a mark of your character that you have learned from your mistakes, but please don’t let doubt rule you.” Dumbledore said, his face suddenly showing his years.

Harry sat awkwardly for a moment longer, silently acknowledging that his professors were right in some ways. He couldn’t seem to get himself away from the strange feeling that his brain was encased in a quiet fog. It would clear at times throughout the day, mainly when he was with Ron and Hermione, but would creep back in when he was alone, or when he felt himself getting angry. It wasn’t that he was particularly sad, just oddly disconnected, like he wasn’t fully engaged in his day. He did what was expected of him because he knew that everyone was watching and waiting for him to break apart as he had just after Sirius died, and he had sworn to himself he would get better control of his emotions. He would show them that he wasn’t the irresponsible child he had been. He had to if he had any hope of beating Voldemort.

“Well, my boy, I’m delighted to see that you and Severus are beginning to get along,” the Headmaster broke in suddenly. “I still think you two would have a great deal to talk about if ever you tried. I dare say you might even be friends,” he finished as he waved Harry toward the door.  
Harry didn’t hesitate at the invitation and quickly ducked through the door, shuddering at Dumbledore’s words. It would be a cold day in hell when he had anything friendly to say to the greasy bastard.

* * *

Dumbledore stood in the dusty room for a moment longer, considering. If only his boys would stop fighting long enough, they might realise they had far more in common than either would ever guess. He sincerely hoped Harry was going to be alright. He knew that he put too much on the young man, but what choice did he have? And the boy had so few people who loved him that he loved in return. To lose one had been devastating, and Albus knew that Harry blamed himself; he just hoped the boy would be able to come to terms with it soon, for everyone’s sake. That thought sobered him as he left the classroom, turning toward the dungeons.

He wouldn’t admit it to Harry, but Severus not contacting him was worrying. The protocol they had put into place during Harry’s first year dictated that Severus contact him first, in a place and time of his choosing as he was more likely to know what spells might be on his person.  
Dumbledore had waited up after Severus’ doe had woken him, but the man never showed. When shortly after dawn, the previously unused alarm rang out in his chambers, he had known that nothing good had come of that meeting.

Dumbledore arrived at the stretch of wall that hid his potion masters rooms, and looked sadly at the back of the statue of Ares, still turned to face the wall and with an alarming smear of dried blood across it. The headmaster raised his hand and lay it on the cold stones. The stones seemed to shiver for a moment before they melted away, taking a rather formidable set of wards with them.

“Severus? Severus, my boy, you missed breakfast and our meeting. I really must insist we talk. I’ve been getting complaints from all the other heads of houses about your point taking,” Albus called, forcing the right note of annoyance into his voice in case anyone or anything was listening.  
Dumbledore frowned when no answer was forthcoming. The front room looked to be in order. A worn couch and two comfortable sage green chairs stood facing the cold fire grate. Bookshelves covered every wall, crammed to capacity with anything that had caught Severus’ fancy. A soft dark blue patterned rug, worn thin in places, covered the floor behind the couch and stretched under Severus’ writing desk. A pile of what looked like half graded essays graced the desk and the coffee table; quills abandoned on most flat surfaces.

Dumbledore rapped softly on Severus’ bedroom door, not wanting to disturb him but worried enough to risk his wrath. When no answer came, he opened it carefully and ducked his head in. The bed was empty didn’t look slept in. The door to the attached ensuite was open, showing it was empty as well.  
Albus pulled his head back, frowning in earnest now. He paced quickly to Severus’ private lab, thinking to check it quickly before he sent out his Patronus to hunt down the wayward man. Not many knew you could task a Patronus with such things, but he had found it supremely useful during the first war, and sadly would likely find it such for this one as well.

The Headmaster gasped as he opened the lab door and saw Severus slumped on the floor in front of his work table. With a flick of his wand, his silvery phoenix burst forth. “Message for Poppy. Come to the dungeons immediately. Professor Snape is in his quarters and injured”. As soon as he finished speaking, the phoenix shot upward through the ceiling.

Albus carefully rolled Severus over, checking for any visible wounds. There was dried blood on his left arm and hand, along with a bracelet that Albus knew Severus hadn’t had yesterday. A considering look came over his face as he realised that this object was most likely the cause of their current problems and Severus’ injury.  
Poppy arrived a moment later, having the same level of clearance to enter any room as the Headmaster did. It wouldn’t do to lock yourself away from the resident healer, just in case she was needed.

She knelt quickly beside Severus, flicking her wand to bring up a diagnostic spell.  
“Dehydrated and exhausted, with some blood loss, but it looks like he took a blood replenisher.” Her face fell into a scowl. “His temperature is much too low, Albus,” Poppy said worriedly. Her sudden gasp stopped Albus from casting a warming charm. “Headmaster, his magic is almost gone. His core is dangerously low. I don’t know what he could have done to get himself in this state, but he will need days if not weeks to recover, the stupid man” Poppy snapped as she cast a quick levitation charm and moved Severus to his bedroom, Albus trailing along behind.

“Binky,” Poppy called out as she efficiently flicked her wand, stripping Severus and cleaning the blood off of him before a pair of his soft sleep trousers made their way out of his wardrobe and onto him.

A house elf wearing a clean Hogwarts tea towel with a small additional green ribbon, showing her to be in service to the hospital wing, appeared.

“Yes, Mistress Poppy?” She asked.

Poppy listed a string of potions she needed in rapid succession, and the elf nodded before vanishing with a crack. She appeared again a moment later, skinny arms laden with glass bottles.

“Thank you Binky, that will be all for now, though I would like you to set up a standard medical watch on Professor Snape. Assign whoever you feel is best.” Poppy said as she gathered the potions and moved toward Severus.

Binky nodded once in acknowledgment and vanished again as Poppy began spelling the potions into Severus’ stomach. When she was done, she pulled the covers up to his chin and tucked him in, fussing with the edge of his soft white quilt for a moment.  
“Will he be alright, Poppy”? Albus asked quietly.  
“Yes, of course, Headmaster,” she answered distractedly “He simply needs rest and to eat more than he does,” she said. “Though we both know that it’s not likely he’ll bother to do either,” she added sadly.

Albus gazed quietly at Severus for a moment. He looked so much younger tucked into the sea of white blankets, his usual presence somehow diminished. Abruptly Albus was reminded that Severus was not the old man his eyes and experiences declared him to be. He was only 37, his face yet unlined, barely of an age to be taken seriously in the wizarding world. Albus himself was a sprightly 141, hardly ancient when most wizards could look forward to seeing 200.  
“Please let me know if anything changes Poppy,” Albus said softly as he moved to leave the room. “I’ll need to arrange coverage for his classes today.”

Poppy nodded briskly and stood to follow him out. “Of course Headmaster. If you can, please try to keep him in his chambers for at least a full day,” she said, lips thinning in displeasure “perhaps you’ll have more luck than I do” she said as she stepped through the brick archway that marked the door of Severus’ chambers.  
Dumbledore didn’t reply but gave her a wry look before striding down the corridor toward the stairs, leaving Poppy staring curiously at a statue turned the wrong way about.

* * *

Harry walked into his defense class, warily eyeing the empty desk upfront and hoping Dumbledore hadn’t told Snape that he had seen the man stumbling across the grounds that morning. He hardly needed more reasons for the Potions Master to hate him, and he had a feeling that admitting to seeing him in a weakened state wouldn’t endear him any.

Harry set his bag down at his regular desk in the back of the room, Ron to the right, Hermione’s usual seat to the left conspicuously empty. Just as Harry was looking up to see where she’d got off to the door opened. Instead of sweeping black robes and the sharp crack of boots on the stone floor, his head of house walked in on soft feet. His eyes met Ron’s, and Ron leaned over to whisper, “Do you know where he is? Is this about this morning?” He asked curiously.

“Yeah, probably,” Harry replied but was cut off from further speculation as McGonagall called the class to order.

“Everyone, if you could find your seats, please. That means you, Mr. Finnigan, and if that is a Weasley product in your hand, you would do best to see that it finds its way into my office by the end of the day.”

Seamus flinched and dropped into the seat beside Dean, stuffing something into his bag.  
“Now, as you can all see, I will be filling in for Professor Snape today. He is attending to a matter for the headmaster, but I assure you he will receive a full report from me,” McGonagall said warningly.

She shot a very pointed look at Harry just as he opened his mouth to ask what sort of matter would draw Snape away since he knew that the man was injured and should be in the hospital wing. He snapped his mouth shut as it occurred to him that perhaps Mcgonagall wasn’t being entirely truthful and got his book out.

The lesson in wordless casting moved forward with minimal fuss and was by far the easiest defense class he had had that year. McGonagall hadn’t insulted him, hexed him, or taken house points for “looking disrespectful.” It was all rather lovely, actually.  
Harry spent the remainder of his day in the library with a small break for Charms and lunch, but managed to get most of his transfiguration essay written, 8 inches on the properties of animate to inanimate transforms. He was feeling somewhat accomplished when he returned to the common room that night.

Harry ducked through the portrait hole and almost ran into one of the fourth years that had giggled at his bare chest that morning. He flushed slightly as she smiled at him.

“Hi, Harry,” she giggled. “Would you like a chocolate?” she asked, a coy look on her face. She was rather pretty, long dark hair with deep blue eyes. Harry couldn’t remember her name but thought it started with an R.

“Erm, no thanks, I had a pretty big dinner,” he said apologetically as he skirted around her. He caught a glimpse of her disappointed expression before she flashed a smile at him.  
“Of course, Harry, maybe later,” she said as she turned away, her box of chocolates tucked under her arm.  
He shook his head as he moved over to the fire where Hermione was ensconced in her usual spot, her papers, and books were strewn around her.

“Hi, Harry,” Hermione greeted him distractedly. “What did Romilda want with you?”

“Romilda?” Harry asked, confused.  
“Yes, Harry, the fourth year you were just speaking to,” Hermione asked slowly, an eyebrow raised in question.

“Oh, is that her name? I’d forgotten. She was just offering me a chocolate,” he said, waving the interaction away.

Hermione frowned slightly but seemed to accept it.  
“Have you started your transfiguration essay?” she asked instead.

“Yes, and finished it. I still need to go over my defense homework again. You know Snape will take any points he can from me,” Harry sighed sadly.

He did enjoy the look of surprise that crossed Hermione’s face before she held out her hand to check his work. Wordlessly he handed over his essay and dug around in his bag for his defense homework, emerging a moment later triumphantly with a slightly squished scroll.

“What sort of thing do you suppose Professor Snape is doing for Dumbledore,” Hermione asked while squinting at his messy handwriting.

“Oh, Hermione, I forgot to tell you!” Harry said quickly before he filled her in on what he had seen that morning.

“And then Dumbledore said he was fine and he was going to head down to the dungeons to see him.” Harry paused, waiting for Hermione to tell him he should have offered to help Snape of at least fetched the headmaster.

“I think you did the right thing, Harry. You know how Professor Snape is. He likely wouldn’t have wanted your help anyway, and it might have made things between the two of you worse. And you know how bad it’s been since last year.” Harry shuddered at the reminder of the man’s rage over the pensieve incident.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Hermione said firmly, patting Harry gently on the knee. “Why don’t we go over your defense homework as well. Your transfiguration essay looks good, except you seem to have trouble understanding Bertreds principle of personality type.”

“Teacups have a personality type?” Harry asked, confused.

Hermione just sighed and settled down to go over the chapter with him again. By the time they called it quits, they were both, bleary-eyed and the common room was empty of all but a few 7th years studying for NEWTS and looking hunted.

Harry stumbled up to his bed, for once falling asleep almost immediately, his last thought that he might get to enjoy defense again if Snape stayed out a bit longer.

* * *

Snape woke in his own bed. It smelled like the lavender and rosemary he stored all of his sheets with, and he relaxed further into his blankets. He frowned, trying to remember getting into bed, just as the crack of a house elf arriving sounded in his room. He jerked upright and immediately regretted it as a wave of nausea hit him.

“Oh, Master Snape, you should not be up yet,” a small voice scolded firmly. “Mistress Poppy says you is to stay in your bed until tomorrow.”

Snape swallowed roughly, trying to keep what little might be in his stomach down.

“When did I get here?” he asked, his voice low and rasping with sleep.

“You has been in bed since just after breakfast Master Snape. Headmaster Dumbledore be finding you on the floor.” The elf said, disapproval radiating from its small frame as it set up a tray with broth and a slice of soft bread.

“Mistress Poppy said you need to be eating something. Too skinny, she says, you has not been taking care of yourself.” The elf looked positively mutinous at this.

Binky, he remembered faintly, seeing the green ribbon that marked her as one of Poppy’s elves. He seemed to recall a similar conversation with this particular elf the last time he had been subjected to a stay in the hospital wing. If things held true to form, Poppy would arrive shortly, and Binky would stand glaring at him until he ate enough to satisfy her.

He knew better than to try to ignore her. The last time he had ignored one of the hospital wing elves, he had found himself in the scratchiest set of hospital pyjamas he had ever had the misfortune of meeting.

  
He meekly took the tray and spooned a few bites of broth into his mouth. Binky made a small satisfied noise and disapparated.

  
He ate a few more bites, surprised at how hungry he was. He rarely had much of an appetite these days.

  
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his outer doors opening, followed swiftly by his bedroom door swinging open to show Poppy, closely followed by Dumbledore. Snape set the tray to the side and pulled the blankets up, hiding his thin, scarred chest from view.

“Well, how are you feeling, Severus?” Poppy asked, already casting her diagnostic charms.

“As well as could be expected, though still somewhat dizzy.” He replied.

“I would think so young man, you almost drained your core completely. What exactly were you doing that took so much energy?” Poppy asked suspiciously. She knew very well how powerful Severus was, and anything that caused him to use so much magic could not be good for the Order.

“Nothing. I didn’t use anything beyond a few simple spells over the last day,” Snape replied, a troubled look on his harsh face.

“Well, that’s not promising, my boy,” Albus spoke for the first time, looking pointedly at the bracelet.

Poppy fussed with him for a minute longer, reminding him to finish his food and to call her if he felt faint again, her eyes flicking between Severus and the Headmaster.  
“You’re to stay in bed until at least noon tomorrow, Severus. I’d like to make it two days, but I know you won’t agree to it. If I see you out of bed before then for anything other than a trip to the loo, I will body bind you.” She looked so serious that Snape just nodded and sat back on the pillow throne she had assembled behind him.  
Poppy gave one last nod to both him and Albus before leaving.

“So my boy, tell me how you ended up in the state I found you? Anything to do with the broken bottles in your lab?” Dumbledore asked, giving him a convenient out.

“Yes, it must have been Headmaster, I was working early this morning and accidentally knocked over an experimental sleeping draught. I was hoping to make one that could be safely inhaled, but it appears it’s stronger than I intended.” Severus lied swiftly.

As they spoke, Dumbledore lined himself up until he was just in front of Severus.

“Well then, let me just send a quick note to Minerva, so she knows she’ll have your classes again tomorrow.” As Dumbledore finished speaking, he looked Severus in the eye and cast a silent legilimens.

Snape dropped his shields and brought the memory of the previous night to the front, as well as what had happened before he blacked out in the lab. Dumbledore played it through twice before backing out.  
“There my boy, all taken care of. You’ve no need to worry about your students tomorrow.” A slight shake in the Headmasters voice the only thing that betrayed their farce.

Silently he held his hand out, echoing Voldemort’s movements from the night before. Snape placed his hand in Albus’ and waited for something to happen. Albus sat and stared for a long while before releasing him. Glowing golden words suddenly appeared in front of Snape, who startled before he realized that Albus was writing in the air.

_“I could find no trace of a visual component to the spells, but there is certainly an audio portion. The main purpose seems to be to drain your magical core. I fear Voldemort may be able to add your power to his with this. There is something else concealed, but I suspect it is simply the runes that allow him to make the bond to your dark mark that he has obscured.”_ the writing hung for a moment before flaring and raining down in sparks.

Snape responded, his silvery script lighting up the dim room. _“Do you have any idea how to remove it?”_ he asked, his face pinched with fear. He thought that if he were offered a quick death or the loss of his magic, he wouldn’t choose to lose his magic, and certainly not to Voldemort.

_ “Not yet, though I have a few things I would like to look up. In the meantime, try to recover and make sure that you play your part exactly,” _Albus warned, script glowing.

“I’m sorry, my boy, I must have dozed off for a moment,” Albus said jovially. “I had best be off before Poppy returns and accuses me of keeping her patient up.”

The Headmaster rose and moved toward the door, giving Severus an easy nod as he left. Severus huffed and let himself sink back into his pillows. He was hugely grateful that at least there wasn’t a visual portion to the spell, but the idea that he could wake up a squib or not at all, depending on the Dark Lords fancy, was terrifying.

Having to make sure he played his role, regardless of whether he was alone or not, was going to be difficult. He sat up suddenly as a thought occurred to him and summoned a quill and parchment. His head spun as the items soared into his lap, reminding him that his magic was still dangerously low.

He scribbled off a quick explanation for his personal house elf about how his behavior would need to change, so Tippy would know he wasn’t angry with her. She kept her discretion and would not share what she knew. She had known of his status as a spy for years and protected it. She would understand the need.

“Tippy,” he called out. She arrived with a soft crack. Before she could say anything, he held a hand up and pointed to the bracelet. Her huge eyes narrowed at it, then widened almost comically. He handed her his note as he ordered, “Draw a bath for me, and if you forget to add my healing potions again, you’ll be doing worse than ironing your ears,” he snarled. Tippy looked sharply at him, then bowed quickly. “Of course Master, Tippy will not forget again,” she said, playing along even if she didn’t yet understand.

Tippy hadn’t called him master for years, nor did she ever forget to add healing potions to his bath, even when he insisted she needn’t. She opened the note and scanned it, her small face relaxing. She glanced up at him, sadness writ large across her face as she gave him a gentle nod to show she understood.

She moved to go fill a bath for him, bringing out his softest, most worn bedclothes, something she only did when she was genuinely concerned about him. She hated the tatty things and insisted that they made her look as if she was neglecting her wizard, but she kept them anyway.

She walked over and offered a small hand to help him to the bath. He reached out, carefully wrapping his large hand around her thin fingers. He was filled with a sudden warmth and strength as she pushed a trickle of her magic around him, helping him to steady himself. They maneuvered into the bath, where he gave her a grateful look before she slipped out of the door.

Snape scrubbed himself twice over before lying back against the edge of his tub. The water was self-cleaning and stayed at the exact temperature he preferred, which happened to be a few scant degrees short of lava. He had never been allowed warm showers when he was a child and had avoided them. It wasn’t until he got to Hogwarts that he learned the magic of hot water. Despite what his students might say, he spent an embarrassingly long time bathing each day, it was one of his few indulgences. Snape relaxed further into the water, the faint smell of herbs floating around him, his mind drifting idly.

Tippy found him there an hour later, fast asleep and decidedly wrinkled. She snapped her fingers, lifting him and drying him all in one movement. A small wave and he was clothed in his worn track pants that had started life black but were now more of a faded grey and a pale blue t-shirt that was so thin and soft it molded to his chest and back, showing the shadowed lines of roping scars.

She tucked him back into bed, brushing small fingers through his hair when he stirred. He quieted and burrowed deep into his blankets, murmuring something incomprehensible to himself. With one last sad look, Tippy disapparated, but not before putting a warning charm on his bed that would alert her when he rose. She would take care of her wizard, especially when he refused to do it himself.

* * *

The rest of the week and weekend passed quickly for Harry, a whirlwind of Quidditch practices, classes, and trying to avoid being in the presence of both Ron and Hermione at the same time. He found himself spending a great deal of time in the library reading through the Prince’s book and wishing the man were there. Maybe he would have some insight into what Dumbledore had shown him about Tom Riddle. At the very least, he would offer a welcome respite from avoiding his two best friends who both seemed to talk incessantly about Lavender Brown, for very different reasons.

On top of everything else, Romilda Vane seemed to be following him. She kept popping up in the most unexpected places as if she were lying in wait for him. Even Ron, who initially thought it was funny, was getting a bit creeped out, not to mention that Ginny seemed weirdly upset about it, which upset Dean, even though they were on the outs. Harry had concluded that he would never understand anyone and had given up, stuffing his Gryffindor courage for once, and gone into hiding.  
Snape had shown back up at breakfast the day after Harry had seen him hurt, if possible, looking even more bad tempered than usual and receiving pointed glares from Madam Pomfrey.

Harry was lingering over his breakfast, delaying going to defense for as long as possible. Hermione was beside him, deep in her book and determinedly ignoring Ron and Lavender, several seats down and busy snogging.

Harry jumped, losing his last bite of sausage to the floor as she suddenly slammed her book shut, bringing a small pool of silence to their area of the table as everyone stared at her, wondering if this was when she finally lost it and beat Ron to death with a book. Harry knew for a fact that there was a betting pool on how long it would take before she resorted to violence. She’d gotten a bit of a reputation after socking Malfoy in third year.

Hermione stood, steadfastly ignoring the rest of the table and looked at Harry. “Come on, we’ll be late for defense,” she said crisply.  
Harry groaned but bent to pick up his bag and follow her out of the Great Hall. He was regretting eating that last sausage as they passed through the classroom door and moved to their usual seats. If Snape hit him with a curse, he’d likely throw up, which he was sure would lead to mocking for the remainder of the term, if not the rest of the year.

Harry was just turning to Hermione to ask her to take pity on him and memory charm the whole class if he did throw up when Snape swept in, slamming the door behind him. It locked with an ominous click. Those in the front row, mostly Slytherins with less to fear, looked puzzled while the Gryffindors all wore expressions of deep concern.

“A new policy is in effect immediately. I will not tolerate tardiness. Any who are outside of the classroom after I have shut the door will need to read their books carefully,” Snape said with a malicious smile. “Or perhaps Miss Granger will share her undoubtedly overly thorough notes with them in exchange for a few moments of the approval she so very much craves.”

Hermione drew in a sharp breath but stopped when Harry laid a gentle hand on her arm. Snape’s eyes narrowed at this, and he opened his mouth, no doubt planning to spit more vitriol at them when a rapid knocking came at the door.

A terrible look of glee came over the potion master’s face as he gave a negligent wave of his wand in the direction of the door. Almost instantly, there was a crackling sound followed by a sharp yelp and a series of curses that sounded suspiciously like Ron. Harry glanced around but didn’t see any tall redheads hiding in the room. Snape stared at the door as if to assure himself that the unlucky student wouldn’t be persisting. He looked almost disappointed at the lack of opportunity to continue hexing his students as he turned back to the room.

“Professor McGonagall gave me notes from Monday's lesson, and frankly, I am unsure how to convey to all of you how much of a disappointment you are. You were unable to wordlessly cast even simple hexes,” he said with a sneer. “How will you ever win a duel when you announce each curse to your opponent” he thundered. “You were all instructed to practice over the previous week, but I see that once again, you’ve chosen to ignore me.” For a moment, Snape had sounded legitimately angry, a tone that Harry was intimately familiar with. He knew what was coming next, so it didn’t surprise him in the least when Snape snapped “Potter, to the front of the room.”

Harry slowly rose from his seat, thinking forlornly that he hadn’t had a chance to voice his request for memory charms to Hermione. He sighed heavily as he took his spot across from Snape, his wand held loosely in his fist.

Snape sneered at him “think you’re too good for practice Potter? That you’ve already mastered everything I can teach you?” he snarled.

  
Harry felt the old anger rising before being swallowed by the strange resignation that seemed to be his new default response to Snape. Instead of responding, he simply brought up his wand, falling into a traditional dueling stance.

  
Snape gave him a vicious look and took up the same pose. Without warning, a spell cracked out of Snape’s wand as he slashed it toward Harry. Harry tried to cast his shield in time but ended up having to dive off to the side to avoid whatever it had been. Harry scrambled up just in time to take a curse directly to his face, something that glued his teeth together.

“Let's see how you do when you can’t speak,” Snape said mockingly, causing a chorus of gasps around the room.

  
“That’s not fair Professor, we just started learning to cast wordlessly,” Hermione protested from the back of the room.

  
Snape whirled on her rabidly, spit flying from his lips “I suggest you keep your mouth shut Granger. I hardly need teaching suggestions from someone of your background,” he said nastily.

It was as close as a Professor could come to calling a student a mudblood, and by the stricken look on Hermione’s face, she knew it too. Silence reigned across the room.

Harry tried to open his mouth to tell Snape to leave her alone, to pick on him if he needed to abuse someone today, but couldn’t unlock his teeth. He strode across the room and, for the first time in months, felt the familiar burn of anger in his chest. Harry reached out and grabbed hold of Snape's left wrist, fully intending to shake the man until he released the spell, and Harry could tell him exactly how much of a wanker he was.

Snape jerked back so hard he stumbled, knocking into the first row of desks and making Malfoy yelp as his chair was knocked back into Dean, sending them both crashing down. Harry tried to recover but somehow got tangled in Snape's long robes, both of them falling hard, Harry trying his best to drop his Professors arm and get out of the way.

The charm sticking his teeth together, suddenly released as Harry tried to untangle himself from the long limbs of his teacher. He pulled himself up, and for a moment, he thought that Snape was holding him down with a hand around his right wrist. What he saw made confusion replace his anger. A plain silver band had appeared on his wrist, identical to one on Snape’s left wrist, and they seemed to be stuck together. Harry met Snape’s eyes, opening his mouth to ask what the man was playing at, but froze at the look on Snape’s face. Absolute terror shown out of onyx eyes.

“Potter, headmaster now. Whatever you have to do, get him,” he said, seconds before he collapsed, screaming.

Harry’s scar burst with pain, and he could faintly hear someone shrieking in rage. He doubled over, clutching his forehead, trying to get a handle on the pain, tears leaking from his eyes.  
Harry raised his wand and flicked it, wordlessly summoning his silver stag. “Dumbledore, emergency, defense classroom,” he forced out.

The stag lept away, vanishing through the locked door. Hands were suddenly on him, bracing him up. Hermione’s soft hair brushed his cheek, and he tried to breathe through the splitting pain. Harry forced his eyes open and looked at Snape.

The man had clenched his teeth shut, trying to prevent any further noises escaping. Blood from where he’d bitten his lip trickled over his chin, and he seemed to be gasping for breath, red foam between his locked teeth.

Harry studied their linked wrists, head swimming, and couldn’t see anything that locked them together. It was more like they were magnetized, he couldn’t seem to pull away. Snape's arm followed his faithfully as he moved. The door to the classroom suddenly blew open, slamming so hard into the castle wall that the knob stuck.  
Dumbledore strode quickly to his side, Hermione moving to make room.

“Miss Granger, if you would please have your fellow students leave the room and then go retrieve Madam Pomfrey, we would be most grateful,” Dumbledore said calmly, all the while flicking his wand over their joined wrists.  
Hermione nodded quickly and turned to herd everyone out. As the last person exited, the abused door swung shut with a snap.

“Professor, what's wrong with him?” Harry asked quietly.

“Voldemort is draining his magic, Harry. I fear if I cannot stop it, he will die,” Dumbledore answered shortly.

Harry choked as his throat closed up, doubts about Snape’s true allegiances trying to escape all at once, and he had to stop himself from asking if that would be such a terrible thing.

He was horrified at his brief consideration of just letting the man die, guilt driving him to quickly ask, “What can I do, Professor?”

Dumbledore spared him a considering look, then glanced down at their joined bracelets. “There is a possibility you could push magic through the bracelet since part of its purpose appears to be to transfer magic. You have a great deal of power, Harry, much more so than Severus. If you can push your magic into him, only a small trickle, it could buy me time to block the connection.”  
“Not too much,” Dumbledore warned. “Whatever goes to Severus will likely go to Voldemort.”

Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat and closed his eyes to concentrate on pushing his magic. He gathered together the fire that ran through his veins, just like if he was going to cast, but instead pushed it down his right arm. Since he cast with his right hand, it felt relatively normal, just much more deliberate than he usually experienced. He ran up against a wall suddenly, as if his skin was a barrier, holding his magic in tight. The harder he pushed, the harder it got. Harry was so involved with trying to get around the restriction; he barely felt the pain in his scar but was brought back abruptly when his right arm was suddenly wrenched. His eyes snapped open to see Snape seizing violently, his skull cracking on the floor.

Without thinking, Harry slid his left hand under the man’s shoulders and jerked him into his lap, bracing the thrashing body against his chest. His bound right hand wrapped around Snape's chest, keeping contact with the man's marked left arm across his body.  
The seizure seemed to only get worse as Harry clung on grimly, Snape making horrible pained noises. Harry looked desperately at Dumbledore, but he wasn’t paying attention, his face drawn in concentration as his wand moved smoothly over both of them.

Harry found himself twisting, his right hand pivoting on the bracelet to clutch Snape’s arm, covering the lower part of the dark mark with stiff fingers. His left hand snapped up, landing on Snape's chest, over his heart, the beat erratic and faint against his palm.

  
Harry closed his eyes, gripped Snape tight, and pushed at the barrier, trying desperately to shove magic into the man before his body shut down.

His mind scrambled for a way around, looking for anything, some small hole in the defenses that locked his magic under his skin.

Pressing tightly, he felt a give, like the barrier was thinner in one spot, almost stretchy. He narrowed his focus and pushed at it, feeling it stretch further and further until, with an almost audible twang, it snapped.

Harry felt his magic rushing to fill the body in his arms as he heard Dumbledore yelling at him to pull back, but he couldn’t figure out how to stop it. It was like a tidal wave, crashing through him. He had always thought of his magic like light, or a ball of fire in the center of his chest, nothing like what he felt now. It felt like an ocean roared in the center of him, waves beating with the rhythm of his heart.

The last thing he heard before everything went black was Snape, drawing in a deep gasping breath, like a drowning man reaching the surface.

* * *

Harry woke to pain. Everything hurt. He tried to remember what had happened and how he had landed himself in the hospital wing. He knew without opening his eyes that was where he was. Nowhere else in the world had that particular smell, a blend of antiseptic, herbs, and the burning sage scent he equated with healing spells.

  
He groaned softly as he tried to move. It felt like every muscle in his body had been hit with a bludger, and the world was slowly rotating. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know the ceiling would be spinning in a graceful twirl. Merlin, he must have hit his head. He couldn’t remember what happened, or the last time he had felt this poorly, but that night in second year with the full round of skel-grow was a close contender. He reached over to where he knew the bedside table would hold his wand and his glasses, to be brought up short by something wrapped around his wrist.

Harry’s eyes flew open in surprise, only for him to hiss and narrow them against the blinding light coming in through the windows above the bed. He blinked rapidly, his eyes watering as they adjusted to the reflective white of the hospital wing. When Harry had gotten his vision cleared enough to see why his arm was trapped, he immediately wished he hadn’t.

Attached to his right wrist was a thick silver cuff, butted up against an identical one on a neighboring arm. The long sleeve of the usual hospital shirt was pushed up to show a thin arm, with whipcord muscles standing out under the rippling blackness of the dark mark. The man's face was turned away from him, but the oily black hair spread out across the pillow was enough to tell him who was next to him, if the dark mark hadn’t been proof enough. He couldn’t imagine what other death eater he would find himself tethered to in the Hogwarts hospital wing. Maybe Malfoy. He stopped for a moment to consider, which was worse. Probably Malfoy.

He would have panicked at finding himself sharing a bed with the greasy bastard if memory hadn’t crashed into him.

  
Suddenly the pain and weakness made a horrible sort of sense. He had felt power burning through him, felt like his veins had run with molten metal as he pushed more magic through himself and into Snape than he was sure he ever should have. He felt immediately sick when he remembered what Dumbledore had said. Had he managed to push all of his power into Voldemort?

Harry blinked myopically up at the ceiling and considered his most recent predicament. Honestly, he wasn’t even surprised anymore. If someone had told him a few months ago that a student would get bound to Snape, have his power sucked out by Voldemort, and end up in the infirmary, Harry would have put every galleon he owned on it being him.

A horrifying thought struck him, and he snapped his eyes closed to better reach for his magical core. He sighed in relief as he felt the normal rolling fire in his chest, though it felt strange like it didn’t want to settle. He thought he had expended a considerable amount of energy, but either he hadn’t thrown as much as he’d thought or they’d been asleep for longer than he hoped.

Just then, curtains pulled back, and Madam Pomfrey came around them.

  
“Oh, you’re awake!” she said in surprise. “I didn’t expect either of you up for another day at least. Let me just check you over.” Harry held still as she waved her wand, and lines of incomprehensible diagnostics scrolled through the air in front of her.

  
“A bit of pain and dizziness, but overall you look reasonably healthy,” Pomfrey said, a note of confusion in her voice.

“Do you feel up to eating?” she asked. Harry’s stomach gave a grumble at the mention of food, and a smile flashed across Pomfrey’s face.

“I’ll have an elf bring you something,” she said kindly as she handed him his glasses, which had been resting on Snape’s side of the bed.

Harry was halted for a moment by what an utterly bizarre thought that was before he asked, “How long was I out this time?”

It was a question Harry asked every time he woke in the hospital wing, and after so many years, it was a morbid sort of joke between them.

Pomfrey smiled at him and answered, “Just a day this time, dear, better than usual.” She turned and moved out of the curtained area, presumably to order his food.

With a heavy sigh, Harry turned to study the “room” they’d been given. It looked like they’d been put in the furthest bed from the entrance, giving them actual walls on two sides, curtained partitions on the other two. A small table sat on Snape's side, closest to the wall. The standard hospital bed had been extended to fit both of them comfortably. A small vase with cheery red and gold flowers and what appeared to be a small mountain of chocolate frogs surrounding it sat on the table. A single hard backed chair sat on his side, telling him he had likely had visitors.

Finally, he looked down at the man sleeping beside him. His skin was sallow, paler than usual even, the circles under his eyes were purplish bruises. The faint line where he had torn his lip open was still visible, not having had time to fade. A speck of blood sat in the corner of his mouth. His inky black shoulder length hair looked fairly clean up close, and he smelled rather pleasantly of lavender and rosemary, overlayed by the faint stench of burning magic.

  
Harry realised Snape looked much younger with his face not twisted into a scowl. He leaned closer when he saw something shimmer oddly across Snape’s cheek. Harry frowned as a paper-thin scar he couldn’t remember seeing before appeared on Snape’s face. He shifted nearer, almost nose to cheek with him as his skin continued to shimmer softly.

Harry jerked back as whatever glamor had been on Snape started to fade away. Old silvery white scars shimmered into view, covering the man's face. Most were paper thin and crossed over each other, but the worst was thicker, bisecting Snape’s delicate black brow, traveling over his right cheek and down the sharp angle of his jaw. Confusion filled him as he tried to figure out what could have caused them. A potions accident? A muggle accident as a child?

Harry stifled the urge to retch as the pattern suddenly became, apparent and he realised that this must have been done purposely, many years ago. The lines were too straight, too deliberate. It had likely happened before he had gotten to Hogwarts, else the scars would have been erased.

  
He knew once a scar was there for long enough, even magic had trouble removing it. He had his own set that he would always wear.

He stilled as he considered what it meant, considered that someone had held a small child down and systematically cut his face open. Harry had a flash of what he had seen in Snape's mind during their occlumency lessons, of the huge looming man and the little black haired boy hiding in terror.

Harry twisted over the edge of the bed just in time, heaving bile and potions up. Pomfrey came running around the corner at the sound, waving her wand to vanish the mess.  
“Harry, are you alright? Is it just nausea?” the healer asked hurriedly. Harry gasped for breath, trying to draw in air past his suddenly tight throat. A slender hand rested on his upper back, rubbing soothing circles for several minutes, eventually calming him enough to drag air into his struggling lungs.

  
“Have you seen his face? Oh Merlin, have you seen it?” Harry finally got out between rolls of his stomach.

There was a loaded pause. “It’s not something he can help Harry” a chill had entered Pomfrey’s voice, the gentle hand going stiff on his back.

Harry was too distraught to notice the distance in the normally friendly voice, and he replied without thinking. “Of course it’s not his bloody fault, it’s that monster he grew up with. No wonder he hated muggles.” Harry paused as an awful thought occurred to him, “Why didn’t Dumbledore get him out? He had to have known what was happening.” Harry said, anger chasing away nausea.

Harry hated to think of it, but he knew intimately that Dumbledore wouldn’t necessarily remove a child from that kind of situation, he had just thought it was only him in his very particular circumstances.

Harry turned blazing green eyes up to Pomfrey, ready for almost any answer but the one he got. She glanced over as if to reassure herself that Snape was still asleep before answering.

“Severus learned glamors when he was very young,” she said quietly “It was how his accidental magic manifested. They were such a part of him that no one realised he was wearing one until his 5th year.” Her lips thinned in anger. “By that time, his father had left, and there was no reason to remove him. His mother needed him, and she was just as damaged.” The healer paused, her hand softening again on his back, gentle circles resuming. “Do not believe for a second that I would not have taken that boy had I known what was happening,” Pomfrey said fiercely.

Harry stared at her in surprise. “I didn’t mean to imply you wouldn’t have,” he said softly. Pomfrey made a small sound of distress and brushed his unruly hair out of his face, helping him lean back against the pillows, careful not to jerk Snape’s arm.

Pomfrey stood to leave but paused for a moment.

  
“Harry, as of right now it appears we cannot remove the bracelets” she stated apologetically, “I’m sure we’ll solve it soon, but in the meantime, you and Professor Snape are going to spend a great deal of time in close quarters. You may see more of him than he willingly allows anyone. Please keep in mind that he still chooses to hide his scars.” With that somewhat cryptic warning, she left, slipping around the corner of their partition.

Harry lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling and thinking of small boys, and small dirty rooms and scars.


	3. Chapter 3

_So I’m pickin’ up the pieces where I went wrong,_   
_Oh I’m pickin’ up the pieces where I went wrong,_   
_And there’s somethin’ so familiar, like an old bedtime song,_   
_I’m pickin’ up the pieces where I went wrong…_

  
-Gregory Isakov, Raising Cain

Snape came awake all at once, as he always did. He shook as he opened his eyes to a dark hospital wing. He felt weak and achy, almost raw like the inside of his chest had been scoured. He went utterly still as he realised he wasn’t alone in bed. A warm hand rested against his, and the feeling was so wholly foreign he simply lay there, stupidly having no idea how to proceed.

He finally turned to look at his bed partner, already knowing who would be there but hoping desperately that he would be wrong.

A shock of wild black hair greeted him, one broad shoulder resting near his. His eyes skated down the well-muscled arm to the silver bracelet wrapped snugly around the man’s wrist. The bracelet that was an exact match to his own, resting tightly against his. The bracelet that now shown with twisting runes that seemed to slip away as he looked at them. The concealment charms must have torn apart when the Dark Lord attacked. At least the boy had gotten Albus in time.

  
He couldn’t remember what had happened after he saw the bracelets bind them and the horrible crash of understanding. It had been a test, just not the one he had thought. As soon as Potter was bound, he had felt his Dark Mark explode in pain, calling him to his Lord’s side, with the Chosen One conveniently attached to him.

He looked at the boy distastefully. He knew logically, it wasn’t the boy's fault, but if he hadn’t lost his temper and grabbed him that this wouldn’t have happened.

A small voice spoke from the back of his mind, reminding him that he had been trying for that very reaction. Trying to play his part, to be as nasty as possible to anyone of less than pure blood, and it was just a bonus that Granger happened to be one third of the Golden Trio. He knew Potter would generally have reacted badly, but with his behavior, since the start of term, he was honestly somewhat surprised that all it took to goad him was upsetting Granger.

Snape sighed as he looked mournfully at their matching jewelry. His cover was surely blown. He would soon be known as a traitor to the Dark Lord if he wasn’t already. He hoped that whatever Albus had done had blocked the connection permanently. He would have enough trouble with every death eater who wanted to make a name for himself, trying to kill him. He was doubly attractive to would be murderers with the Boy Who Bloody Lived attached to him.

He picked at the blanket that covered them, light blue and imbued with warming charms, as he thought about the overwhelming amount of ways his life was about to change and found himself dizzy and sick on the edge of the unknown.

Snape stilled as Potter muttered in his sleep and shifted against him. The hand resting against his slid away, Potter twisting his arm around awkwardly in his sleep.  
Snape resolutely ignored the odd twinge of loss the movement caused and turned his thoughts back to the problem of the bracelet.

He sat staring at the twisting runes as the hospital wing slowly lit up, turning from pale watery blues to rosy pink, and finally to a delicate washed out gold that spoke of a cold clear morning. All the while, Snape tried to make sense of the runes, but every time he thought he recognized one, it changed again. No particular pattern emerged for the changes, and he finally fell back with a frustrated huff.

Snape brought his free hand up to rub at his face and froze in horror as his fingertips caught on his scars. He must have been magically exhausted for his glamour to fall. It never fell, and it was good enough to cover both the sight and the feel of them. Not even the Dark Lord had seen them, despite the torment he had put Severus through. His thin fingers shook as he traced over each scar, a road map of terror and pain etched into his face. He could barely remember the last time he had felt them. He kept them covered so thoroughly he could almost forget they were there.

He abruptly dropped his hand and viciously yanked his glamour back into place, his weakened magic burning in protest at the use. They were there, they always would be there, and he couldn’t forget it. Just like he couldn’t ever forget the look on his best friends face when she’d seen what he truly looked like. The horror he had expected, but the pity had hurt, had made him flee and never willingly show anyone again.

He shot a worried glance at Potter, hoping the boy hadn’t seen. No doubt, the whole school would know shortly if he had. He couldn’t imagine Potter keeping a secret like that if given such a golden opportunity to mock his most hated teacher.

He was tempted to shake the boy awake and demand an answer, but that would be counterproductive if he hadn’t seen.

Snape lay there deliberating and seething as he imagined increasingly more bizarre scenarios in which Potter called him out in front of the whole school, ripped away his glamour, and taunted him.

The curtain twitched to the side, breaking into his morbid thoughts and admitted a rather sleepy looking Headmaster.

“Severus!” he called quietly but joyfully. “I didn’t expect you awake so soon. I just stopped to check in with Poppy before I went to breakfast.”

  
His blue eyes twinkled in happiness, a smile stretching wide under his wiry beard. He was wearing a truly hideous sunshine yellow robe today, decorated with golden snitches streaking across at random moments. The overall effect was mildly nauseating and almost guaranteed to cause a headache if you spent more than a few minutes watching it.

“Headmaster,” Snape rasped, his voice raw from screaming. “I seem to be missing the memory of a few key events. Perhaps you could be so kind as to fill me in,” he finished, an eyebrow raised expectantly. Merlin, everything hurt. Even raising his eyebrow hurt. A man should never find himself in a position in life in which even his eyebrows hurt.

Dumbledore moved around the bed to perch on the windowsill nearest Snape. “Of course, my boy, I can tell you what I saw myself and what Miss Granger informed me happened beforehand if you are missing those parts as well,” he said, concern in his voice.

“I remember well enough up till you arrived,” Snape answered, reassured that he hadn’t lost more time.

Dumbledore settled back more comfortably and reached out to take a chocolate frog from a frankly absurdly large pile of them on the bedside table. Snape was momentarily distracted by the collection of candy amphibians holding court around what might have been the most Gryffindor bouquet he’d ever seen. He eyed it with disgust before turning back to the Headmaster, who had a distinct glint of amusement in his eyes.

“When I arrived, both yourself and Harry were on the floor of your classroom. Miss Granger moved the rest of the class outside and then went to get Poppy.” Dumbledore started.

Snape nodded impatiently and waved his hand for Dumbledore to proceed. He remembered flashes here and there. He seemed to lose time just as Dumbledore started looking truly worried, and he could feel blood filling his mouth.

“I tried many different blocking spells. Nothing was working, and you were getting weaker. Harry asked what he could do to help” here the Headmaster paused, eyeing him with a certain wariness, “I told the boy to see if he could push power into you to help stabilize you to give me time to find a solution.”

Snape gaped at him. “That’s not possible. You know you can’t just stuff power into another wizard, not without the proper preparation, both of their bodies reject it.” he snapped, becoming angry now “what if it had backfired on him? He could have turned his magic against himself.”

Dumbledore looked grave but firmed his jaw. “I knew the risks Severus, but I feared once you were connected and he had killed you, he might be able to drain Harry as well.”

Snape swallowed against the thought of Voldemort stuffed full of both his and Potter's magic. The damage the man could have done would have been almost incalculable. He might not like the boy, but even he couldn’t deny that Potter had a great deal of power.

“While Harry worked on trying to gift you enough magic to keep you alive, I resorted to trying to break the bonds,” Dumbledore admitted quietly, sadness in his voice.

If he had succeeded, it would have killed one or maybe both of them. Severus nodded in understanding. Better they die than allow the Dark Lord that much stolen power, even if it wouldn’t last for long. Besides, it would have been most likely to kill him, leaving Potter weak but alive, and he knew his worth when stacked against the Savior of the Wizarding World.

A frown stole over Snape’s face. “If you had resorted to trying to break the bonds, then why are we both alive?” he asked.

“Harry managed to stabilize you,” Albus responded. “I’m still not entirely sure how the boy did it, but I have a theory that it was only possible because of the bracelets” Albus eyed his incredulous expression for a minute before continuing in an excited tone. “He pushed enough magic into you that you were glowing. I’ve never seen anything like it, my boy.”

Dumbledore looked increasingly intrigued as he explained what had happened as if students turning their professors into a living Lumos was terribly exciting and not at all concerning.

Severus cleared his throat. “And while fascinating,” he said acidically, “it does not explain why we aren’t dead.”

“Oh yes, of course, my boy,” Albus came back from his mental wandering “ Poppy had the presence of mind to get Minerva on her way. Apparently, Miss Granger had managed to get enough across to imply a certain level of concern,” he continued.

“Minerva was able to tell me of a particular spell that a distant family member had once used in the case of an unwanted marriage bonding. We had time to modify it slightly since Harry was keeping you both alive” Albus finished as if this was a perfectly complete explanation.

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, trying very hard to keep his temper. He opened his mouth to ask what exactly had been done and what the repercussions of it were when he was interrupted by a sleepy voice from behind him.

“So what does it do then, Professor? The spell that is," Potter asked, his voice rough and coming from far too close for comfort. Snape could feel warm breathe puff across the side of his neck, causing his skin to shiver across his shoulders.

“Ah, good morning Harry,” Dumbledore said merrily. “The spell is a blocking one. Unfortunately, we were unable to break the link safely, but with the spell in place, it should keep Voldemort from reaching either of you,” he finished as if that was all.

Severus narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Spells that blocked a bonding usually had to be tied to someone else, someone close in strength to those involved since the binding fed off the magic of the people in the bond. Since he and Potter were two of the strongest, magically speaking, in the castle, then the only person that could be holding the spell together was…

  
“You’ve gone and tied yourself to it, haven’t you, you idiotic old man,” Severus accused, enraged. “Have you thought this through at all? What happens later when you... “ He cut off abruptly at Dumbledore’s stern look.

Potter sat up with interest. “When he what?” he asked.

“Nothing brat, it’s nothing to do with you,” Severus snarled at him. Potter puffed up like an offended owl, and Snape might have found it amusing if he wasn’t so angry with Dumbledore.

Potter gave him a reproachful look and spoke before Snape could berate the Headmaster further. “What happened last night, Professor? The last thing I remember is trying to give Snape my magic.”

“Dear boy, I assure you, you succeeded. You managed to stabilize both of you long enough for us to set a blocking spell,” Albus answered.

“Oh, well good, I wasn’t sure if I could do it there for a while. I couldn’t remember being taught anything about how to share magic like that,” the boy said, sounding troubled.

Snape cut in before Dumbledore could answer, “There are no cases of shared magic like this Potter,” he said snidely. “Magic is only ever shared briefly after complicated spells, which you would know if you paid any attention in class. Only small pieces of magic can be shared without preparation; anything else is impossible.”

“Well, obviously not since I gave you plenty of my magic, you ungrateful bastard,” Potter snapped back.

Severus had been accused of many things in his life, and no one who knew him would ever question his intelligence. However, his wisdom in the face of anger was another matter entirely.

  
“Oh, of course, that’s what this is. I didn’t thank you properly for saving me,” Snape said, sarcasm dripping from his words. “Always having to be the savior, you can’t help yourself, can you Potter? Just like your father, always needing the attention,” he spat out.

He knew the moment the words left his mouth that he had gone too far. Green eyes narrowed, darkening dangerously.

  
He might have been grateful for the sudden show of temper he had been trying to provoke for months if it hadn’t shown up when he was weak and couldn’t properly defend himself. Not to mention the rather thin hospital pyjamas and the fact he was sharing a bed with the boy.

Potter snarled and jerked their bound hands up between them, grabbing hold of the front of Severus’ hospital shirt.

  
“If you haven’t figured out by now that attention is the last thing I want, you really are an idiot” Potter railed, shaking him far too easily. Snape’s face contorted in rage, but before he could get a word out Potter spoke again, “I’ll remember next time not to bother saving you since you were doing such a good job of saving yourself.” he released him to fall back against his pillows.

  
Severus snapped his mouth shut on his retort, finally managing to stop goading the boy. He was right, after all. If he hadn’t done what he had, they would both be dead. As much as Severus hated to admit it, he owed the obnoxious brat his life.

A hard voice spoke from behind him “I suggest you both learn to curb your tongue with each other. I have had no luck in solving the spells in the cuffs, so you will have to learn to live with each other for the time being,” Albus said firmly. Severus couldn’t hide the angry sneer that crossed his face at this pronouncement, even if he could see sense in calling a temporary truce. Especially since he no longer had to hide his true allegiances.

Potter rolled his eyes at Severus, huffing, almost as if he found Snape to be ridiculous.

  
Snape’s back snapped straight at the thought, and he eyed Potter narrowly.

  
“How are we to manage our schedules like this” Snape asked, raising their linked arms for emphasis.  
Potter turned to Albus with reluctant interest.

“For the time being, we have rearranged your schedules so that you are both able to be present in all required classes. Unfortunately, Severus, you will need to cut down on the time you spend brewing, and Harry, you will, of course, have to give up Quidditch until this is resolved,” Albus answered with a mild look.

The thunderous looks he received in return made him raise an eyebrow. “That’s the best myself and Minerva have been able to do on short notice. If the two of you would like to change it to something that works better for you both, we are willing to work with you,” he said sternly. Two faces looked back at him from the bed with almost identical expressions of mutinous disapproval.

Albus sighed as he straightened from his place against the wall, running his hands over his ridiculous robe to smooth any wrinkles out.

  
“I trust that both of you will listen to Poppy,” he said as he moved toward the opening in the curtains.

  
“Wait, where are we supposed to stay when we leave here?” Potter called quickly, alarm filtering into his voice.

  
Dumbledore stopped and turned to look at them. “Why in Severus’ rooms, of course. I doubt either of you would be comfortable in the Gryffindor tower,” he answered, a confused look on his face.

  
“What?!” Snape’s voice sharp as he looked between Harry and Dumbledore in horror. “I’m not allowing him into my quarters,” he stated firmly. “Besides, Potter is a child and a student, it’s hardly appropriate.”

Dumbledore looked at both of them with barely concealed impatience.” I understand how hard this must be for both of you,” he said, his voice gentle, “but you must understand that this is something you will have to work out between the two of you.”

Albus turned to look at Snape “ Severus, Harry is 17, and while he is your student, these are extraordinary circumstances. If you would be more comfortable, you may both stay in the Gryffindor dorms.”

  
When they both looked like they were going to interrupt, the Headmaster continued, “ We have more important things to concern ourselves with than where you both sleep. Need I remind you that there is a war on, one that would very much like to see both of you dead” he finished in a tone that brooked no argument.

Both men looked unhappy but didn’t argue further. “Very well Headmaster, we will endeavor to work this... _situation_... out peacefully,” Snape said, distaste twisting his mouth.

Albus nodded to them both as he turned to leave. “Good luck, my boys. Please keep me updated on your progress,” he called from beyond the curtain.

Severus and Harry shared an unhappy look, for once in complete agreement.

* * *

It was another hour before an elf popped into their room with breakfast, one spent silently ignoring each other. She set trays on their laps without pausing, snapping her fingers to prop them both up.

Harry’s stomach growled as he suddenly realised he was starving, having missed the food that Madam Pomfrey was supposed to have sent yesterday. He adjusted his tray and eagerly reached for a piece of heavily buttered toast, only to pull up short as Snape’s arm was brought along. Harry groaned unhappily as he was faced with the unpleasant fact that his dominant hand was the one trapped.

Snape gave him a smug look as he reached for his breakfast, maneuvering easily with his free hand.

A thought dawned on him. “Oh, Merlin,” Harry said in quiet horror. “How am I supposed to cast like this,” a look of panic on his face.

Snape paused, frowning. “It is possible to cast with your off hand, it is just difficult,” he said. “I’m sure if you practice enough, you’ll be just as good as you are with your right hand in a year or so.”

Harry turned to him in disbelief. “A year? And what happens when Voldemort attacks?” Harry said sharply, “Do I just hide behind you and hope you don’t get us both killed?”

“Yes, Potter, that’s exactly what you do” Snape retorted “I will not have you gallivanting off and dragging me with you,” he growled. “I suggest you start practicing soon if you intend on passing your classes this year” the smug look came back to rest on his thin face.

Harry stared at the man for a full minute, having no idea how to respond to the complete disregard in his answer and trying to figure out a way to use his right hand without Snape’s cooperation. He doubted the git would be willing to work with him. Harry was sure he would take a great deal of pleasure in having the power to restrict his magic.

Finally, he turned back to his breakfast, reaching out with his left hand to awkwardly spoon eggs into his mouth. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it was going to be to relearn wand movements, he thought with despair. Charms was going to be a nightmare with its careful precision. Harry sighed, resigned to the idea that he might beat Seamus’ record for setting fire to whatever they were working with. He hoped Snape was good with aguamenti, he thought wryly.

Snape was ignoring him, resolutely making his way through his breakfast. However, Harry noticed that he avoided the sausages and porridge, eating only a small portion of his eggs and tomatoes. No wonder the man was so skinny, he ate less than Lavender did when she was trying to fit into her dress robes in 4th year.

Harry quickly cleared his plate and received an approving nod from the house elf who came to collect his tray. Snape got glared at until he huffed and grabbed a slice of toast from his plate, biting the corner off pointedly. The tiny elf eyed him for a moment before leaving with the half-filled tray.

Harry cleared his throat, about to comment on Snape's eating habits, something sure to start an argument when Madam Pomfrey came around the curtain.

“I see you’re both up and looking better,” she chirped. “Albus let me know on his way out that you were awake,” she said to Snape. “I already checked Harry over when he woke; hold still for a moment, please, while I check you.”

Snape sat stock still as Madam Pomfrey ran her wand over him. He had a very odd look on his face, and if Harry didn’t know better, he would think it almost looked like fear.  
“Potter woke before I did?” Snape asked quietly, a strange tightness to his voice. Harry frowned, confused about what could have set the man off.  
Madam Pomfrey flicked a look between them, and suddenly he knew.

Snape was worried he had seen his scars. Harry’s stomach knotted around his breakfast when he realised the man must think he would use it against him.

Harry met the healer's eyes and shook his head ever so slightly. He didn’t need anything to make this situation more complicated than it already was.

“He woke briefly but wasn’t coherent” Pomfrey lied smoothly. Snape relaxed infinitesimally at this, boney shoulders dropping and thin fingers unclenching to smooth the blankets over his knees absently.

  
Harry’s eyebrows shot up at her. He knew that Madam Pomfrey was a member of the Order and had been during the last war as well, but somehow he never really considered her a woman capable of subterfuge. He eyed her suspiciously, wondering how often she had lied to him about how concerned she was over an injury. By the way she was avoiding looking at him, it was probably a lot.“Alright, boys, it looks like both of you are in surprisingly good condition,” she declared. “There’s not much more I can do for either of you right now, so you’re free to go, but come right back if you have any concerning symptoms.” Pomfrey gave them a look that said they had best clear out soon and stop taking up space in her ward.

Harry was caught off guard, having thought they would be forced to stay in the hospital wing for at least another day. Snape looked over at him, his surprise mirrored on the pale face. They both seemed to come to the unpleasant conclusion at the same time that they still needed to work out where exactly there were going when they left.

“Potter, I have no intention...” “Snape, I think we should..” they both started. Snape paused, scowling as he waved Harry to start.

  
“I think we should stay in the dungeons,” Harry said. “I doubt that you’d be able to get much sleep in the dorm.” Harry also privately thought that if he were to show up at the tower with the most disliked Professor at Hogwarts in tow, he would likely spend the rest of the term warding off painful hexes.

“I agree,” Snape said shortly, face twisted at having to say such a thing. “ I doubt the rest of your idiotic house would tolerate me, nor can I abide more of you than I absolutely have to.”

Harry snorted at Snape's melodrama, which he was coming to see would be a fixture of his time with the man. Snape gave him a dirty look before he turned to call out. “Tippy,” he said and was rewarded a moment later by the crack of a house elf appearing.

“Yes, Master Snape?” the elf asked, bowing her head low. Harry snorted again, this time in disgust at the elf's behavior. He knew most wizards didn’t ask for such prominent shows of obedience from their elves. It figured that Snape would, no matter how much he swore he wasn’t a Death Eater, he had been one once.

He was surprised when he received a look of rebuke from the small creature.  
“Tippy, there is no need for that. I fear my days as a spy are at an end.” Snape said quietly. The elf let out a relieved sigh, immediately straightening and losing her air of subservience. “That is being good to hear, sir,” she chirped. “What do you be needing from Tippy then?”

“Mr. Potter will be moving into my quarters until we can solve our current dilemma,” Snape said, waving their joined hands in explanation. “Please, could you bring us both clothing and have Mr. Potters belongings moved from the Gryffindor dorms?” he finished.

Tippy gave a quick nod and vanished. She returned a moment later, carefully folded stacks of clothing dropping into both their laps before she snapped away, likely to get Harry’s things settled into Snape's rooms.

Harry sorted through his things, finding jeans, a grey long sleeve shirt, and a blue Weasley jumper along with a set of pants and socks. The trainers he had been wearing during class sat on the floor by the bed. Harry reached up to unbutton his blue striped hospital top awkwardly with his left hand only to face a problem they hadn’t considered.

  
“Snape, how the hell are we supposed to get our shirts off?” he asked, looking at where their wrists sat snugly together. “Also, how did Madam Pomfrey get them on?” He finished, completely baffled.

Snape glanced down, a considering look on his face.

  
“Potter, hold your arm steady, I’m going to see if we have any room to work with,” Snape said before raising their arms and pulling straight toward his chest. Harry braced, and a small gap appeared between the bracelets, no wider than a pinky finger before they snapped forcefully back together. Snape made a slight satisfied noise before turning back to his pile of black cloth.

That problem solved, they both managed to get dressed, though not without a fair amount of pushing and pulling, at one point almost tipping off the bed when Snape absently turned and reached for his boots just as Harry was kneeling, off balance and trying to secure his jeans button one handed.

Harry glared at Snape until the man sighed and swung his legs over to Harry’s side so they could both lean over to put shoes on. Snape flicked his wand, his boots lacing and tying themselves swiftly. Harry considered it, then decided he didn’t want to accidentally banish his one set of trainers while trying the spell left handed. He slowly started lacing them by hand, dragging Snape's arm toward him. A wand appeared in front of his nose as Snape waved it at his shoes with an exasperated noise.

Harry yelped, snatching his fingers out of the way just in time to avoid having them tied to his trainers. He turned to Snape with a glare, only to find the man looking back at him with an innocent expression.

Harry sighed resignedly as he accepted what his life was going to be like until they were separated. It couldn’t come soon enough.

* * *

By the time they made it to the dungeons, Snape was ready to admit that the Dark Lord was a tactical genius. There was no way he and Potter were going to survive this. By binding them together, the Dark Lord had managed to kill off two of the most significant threats in the war, it was only a matter of time before they murdered each other.

Potter had insisted on bringing that horrible bouquet with them, as well as his year supply of chocolate frogs. Hiding under the frogs had been an additional box of chocolates, one that at least looked as if it were of higher quality.

Potter juggled the whole pile on the way down the stairs, somehow managing to hold onto it all without any magic. Of course, that meant that Snape’s left arm was involved in the adventure, whether or not he agreed to it. He resolutely ignored the looks of disbelief on the faces of the students they passed.

They finally made it through Snape’s wards and into his sitting room, where Potter promptly dumped the whole lot on his sofa and propped the horrid vase on his mantle. Snape was faintly surprised that Potter's ridiculous hair hadn’t caught fire from the scowl the side of his head was receiving. When Potter finally turned from his study of the room and saw the look on his face, his only response was raised eyebrows.

The sudden reality of having Potter in his rooms, seeing his shabby furniture, knowing he would be sleeping in his bed, was just too much. Snape felt something constricting, clawing at his chest and shortening his breath too quick pants.

“You would do well to remember that this is not your home Potter,” he snarled, anger flaring brightly and latching onto the cause of all of his recent problems. “I do not want you here. You are not to make a mess, touch any of my belongings without explicit permission or speak to me while I am working in any capacity, do you understand?”

Potter’s look of surprise melted into one of anger. “So what, I’m to be your silent little shadow?” Potter snorted. “I know I’ve been trying to work on my anger with you this year, but if you think I’m going to pretend I don’t exist until we have this fixed, you’re a nutter.”

“You’ll do as I say, you insolent boy!” Snape shouted, moving closer to Potter, anger making the muscles in his back tighten uncomfortably.

“The hell I will. You think I want to be here? You think I want to be stuck to you of all people?” Potter hissed, the sudden vicious anger making Snape drawback in surprise.

“We wouldn’t even be in this situation if you hadn’t gone and gotten yourself tied with these stupid things,” Potter continued, motioning angrily at his wrist. “Besides, if you could have just treated your students with even common decency, it wouldn’t have been a problem, it’s not like I ever would have touched you otherwise.” Potter was almost shouting the last, making Snape stiffen.

He wasn’t sure if it was just a combination of all of the injuries he had sustained over the last several days, or that he was feeling oddly vulnerable with someone invading his rooms. Maybe it was his glamour failing for the first time in years, but Potter's words hit him in a completely unexpected way. He suddenly felt like he had that horrible day when he had pushed Lily away and found himself so very alone. Perhaps it was just that almost two decades later, the same eyes were looking at him with the same mixture of rage and disgust.

Abruptly he was exhausted, he just wanted to take a bath and go to bed, to curl up alone, but neither of those was an option. So instead, he simply stood there, back rigid, staring at nothing and wondering bitterly if he had finally found someone who hated him more than he hated himself.

A huff broke his musings. “I’m sorry, alright?” Potter muttered at his shoes. “I’m having trouble with all of this,” he said, flailing their arms around to indicate the room in general, “and you know, coming to terms with you being on our side,” he finished lamely, looking miserably guilty.

Snape looked at him in confusion “I had thought that Albus would have told you of my status as a spy?”

Potter looked uncomfortable. “He did, it just always made more sense for you to be a Death Eater, didn’t it? Dumbledore has been wrong before you know, and you always just seemed like his biggest mistake” Potter finished, rather matter of factly, unintentionally twisting a knife he didn’t seem to realise he had thrust into Severus’ chest.

“I see,” Snape said, voice carefully controlled.

“I’ve got homework I need to catch up on. I’m sure ‘Mione packed notes into my bag for me, and she’ll be mad if I don’t at least look them over” Potter said finally, “Do you have work you need to do? I can wait to start if there was something you needed to do.” He finished awkwardly.

“I have grading to do,” he replied, his voice sounding odd even to him, as he moved toward his old dark blue couch. With a wave of his wand, the pile of chocolate frogs sailed over to stack themselves neatly on top of Potters trunk, resting in the corner near his own. Tippy had already unpacked it as there was an additional extending charm on his bookcase, now filled with sixth yearbooks and interestingly enough what looked like a fair number of muggle novels.

They both settled onto the couch, Potter dragging out a notebook filled with Granger’s neat writing and Snape summoning his pile of grading from his writing desk. They fell into a tense silence, both muttering softly to themselves as they worked. They only ran into a problem when Potter reached into his bag to pull out a muggle pen, then sat staring at his bound right hand.

Snape looked over and sighed. “I cannot imagine that your writing could be worse with your left hand, but for the sake of all of us who have to decipher your work..” Snape paused before reluctantly shifting his arm so the back of his wrist rested on the side of Potters, giving him enough room to write without interference. He cast a featherlight charm on his arm and resolutely turned back to his work, but not before he saw the surprised look Potter gave him.

They worked in a false approximation of peace, only briefly broken by a small argument about tea and who got the final biscuit. Snape won, though he was a bit suspicious at how quickly Potter had caved.

By the time dinner came around, Snape had finished grading his last essay and was catching up on potions journals as Potter muddled his way through the admittedly useless transfiguration book that the school Governors had decided on, despite protests from the entire staff. He knew Minerva assigned supplemental reading, but there were only so many copies in the library.

Potter finally dropped the book in frustration and looked over at him “Dinner?” he questioned.

  
Snape nodded in wary agreement but stopped Potter from getting up. “Would you rather stay here to eat? I know that it’s going to cause a stir with the students,” Snape asked with careful politeness, tugging on their bound hands in explanation.

Potter shook his head “No, it’ll be out sooner or later. Better to do it now so everyone can gossip in their common rooms instead of in the morning where they’ll just gossip in class,” he said, showing a surprising amount of insight into his fellow students.  
“Very well,” Snape agreed, standing to leave.

They made their way more easily to the great hall, both of them starting to get the hang of walking next to each other. Potter had to extend his stride by a few inches, just as Snape had to shorten his. Stairs caused a brief problem as Snape was used to taking them two at a time and ended up dragging Potter halfway up before they got themselves sorted out.

As they walked into the hall, a hush fell over the tables, everyone turning to look at the boy hero and the greasy potions master, stuck side by side. By unspoken agreement, they moved toward the high table, Dumbledore waving his wand to summon an extra chair to Severus’ usual spot.

  
Snape looked over at the Slytherin table in time to see a number of his students looking at him with open disgust. He had known it would happen, but it still stung. Enough of his students had Death Eater parents that he was sure they had known about his supposed betrayal almost before he made it to the hospital wing. His emotions rolled, having received too many blows in too short a time. He wanted to spin on his heel and stalk back to the dungeons where he could hide from all of this, where he wouldn’t feel so very exposed.

A sudden gentle brush across the back of his fingers sent a shock up his arm, grounding him, but when he turned to look at Potter, the boy was looking at his house table, seemingly not paying attention.

They made it through dinner with little fuss, Snape finally taking pity on Potter and repeating the featherweight charm so he could cut his roast beef without flinging it all over the table cloth. He may have waited until after Potter had had to retrieve it for the third time. Near the end of the meal, they had almost gotten the hang of taking turns to use their joined hands, though Snape cut everything he needed cut on his plate with a swish of his wand, much to Potter's obvious jealousy.

Potter was working his way through a rather sickly sweet looking pile of chocolate cake as Severus enjoyed a cup of tea, watching in mild horror when Filius spoke. “So, how are you two managing?” he asked cheerfully “I took a look at those bracelets of yours while you were asleep, they’ve some very impressive spellwork” he continued without waiting for an answer.

“We’re fine, Filius, thank you for asking,” Snape replied, not bothering to comment on the strength of the spellwork. Of course, it was strong, the Dark Lord himself built them.  
Potter leaned around him, briefly abandoning his dessert. “Did you notice anything in particular about them, Professor?” he asked.

Flitwick got a puzzled look on his face. ”I’m afraid nothing that could free you, Mr. Potter. They seem to activate random portions of the bonding spell at odd intervals, making it very hard to see how the spell as a whole is assembled,” the diminutive Professor answered. “Though they are fascinating, I’ve never in all my years seen work change in such a way.”

Potter dropped back into his seat after thanking Flitwick, absentmindedly mauling the remains of his cake as he thought.

  
He seemed to come back to himself as Snape cleared his throat and got ready to stand. They both pushed their chairs back and moved quietly through the now mostly empty Great Hall, turning left toward the dungeons. Just as they walked past the end of the Slytherin table, Severus looked up, meeting the narrowed silver grey eyes of his godson. Draco had such an odd look on his face that Snape almost veered over to speak with him before remembering that he would have to tow Potter with him if he did.

Draco looked down, face flushing, then pushed back from the table and hurried past them, taking the stairs to the dungeon two at a time. A spike of hurt tightened his chest. He had known he would lose Draco someday, either from losing his position as a spy, or what he had thought more likely at the time, losing his life. But he loved the boy; he could still remember holding small hands as Draco took shaky steps, catching the boy as he fell off of his first tiny broom. Draco was the only reason Severus had ever thought he might want children someday.

  
He was brought out of his memories by that same gentle brush of fingers. This time when he turned to look, Potter was looking back, shrewd understanding in his bright eyes. Snape ducked his head and hurried on toward his rooms, and he hated himself for his weakness when he didn’t pull away as Potter walked a bit closer.

* * *

Harry had regretted it the second the words had left his mouth. He had been shocked to see hurt flash through Snape’s dark eyes. The man had looked almost human for a moment. He found himself horribly confused and spent the rest of the evening trying to come to terms with these strange glimpses of Snape as someone who wasn’t just a caricature of anger and spite. It left him feeling unsettled and off balance, so when that same pained unhappiness wrote itself over Snape’s face at the glares from the Slytherin table, Harry had unthinkingly pressed his hand against the other man’s.

Then on the way out of the Great Hall, running into Draco, his actions had upset Snape, his whole body had gone so stiff Harry would be surprised if he wasn’t sore the next day. Harry had had a strange flash of protectiveness, the odd look in Snape’s eyes during their argument bothering him more than he would have liked. So when Draco had hurried past and Snape had watched him flee with a small stricken look, Harry had carefully pressed his hand tight to Snape’s, moving closer as if he could physically block any further hurt with his body.

To his surprise, the man had allowed it, shooting him a searching look then walking silently next to him as they descended to the dungeons. Harry found himself wondering why he cared at all, and if perhaps he was still asleep in the hospital wing having a genuinely bizarre dream. It was a better explanation than him suddenly being concerned about Snape’s feelings.

Harry was exhausted but had been avoiding the idea of bed. Waking up in a hospital bed next to the man, both of them injured and stuck was a far cry from climbing into his Professors bed, magical link, or no.  
They turned to look at each other as they entered the front room, sharing a mutual look of unhappiness before moving wordlessly toward the bedroom and ensuite. They managed to both get dressed and use the toilet with a few well placed silencing charms. They had been forced earlier in the day to solve that particular dilemma, much to their mutual embarrassment.

Harry looked up as they brushed their teeth, his eyes meeting Snapes in the mirror, pausing as green met black. Somehow this felt more intimate than anything else they had done. It was an act that was reserved for couples, people who willingly shared their routines, their lives, not men who occasionally tried to do bodily harm to each other.

Harry bent abruptly, spitting in the sink and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He caught the look of disgust on Snape's face before the man pointedly patted his mouth dry with a towel. Harry smirked at him and pulled his wand out. He cast a quick cleaning charm on himself, dragging Snape's hand through the motions before he could protest. He didn’t think either of them was ready for the shower conversation, though he had caught Snape looking rather longingly at his bath.

They moved toward the bedroom, Snape slipping between the surprisingly fluffy white covers first, Harry carefully following after. A few twists and turns later they were both settled reasonably comfortably. Snape flicked his wand, putting out the lights just as Harry finished setting his wand and glasses on the nearest side table. They both settled down wordlessly. Snape was over as far as he could get, their arms stretched out between them, seemingly trying his best not to touch Harry at all. He had even stuffed a bolster between the two of them, their hands now resting under it.

Harry was honestly grateful for the lengths that Snape had gone to keep them separated. He didn’t particularly fancy waking up with any part of his professor on him. Besides, it must be upsetting to find yourself in bed with not only your student but the son of one of your worst enemies.

  
With that disturbing thought, Harry closed his eyes and did his best to fall asleep. Sometime between thinking he would never be able to and hoping he wouldn’t have nightmares, he managed to drift off, the soft sound of Snape’s breathing strangely soothing.

* * *

The first day of their new schedule was, if you were inclined to look at it charitably, not particularly pleasant. Snape had woken exhausted, after a night of semi-sleep, being continually disturbed by pulling on his arm. Potter was apparently wholly unable to lie still while he slept and moved around in bed almost as much as he moved when he was awake.

They had elected to stay in his rooms for breakfast, something that the Headmaster could hardly fault them for. Potter was horrifically cheerful once he had woken up fully, which Snape found out was right around sip three of his tea. It was like some terrible, energetic light was switched on, and it made Snape slightly more homicidal than he typically was in the mornings. He had spent breakfast drinking his coffee and planning increasingly elaborate accidents that Potter could encounter. At least the boy seemed to have an inkling that his health might be in danger and wisely kept his mouth shut.

Afterward, they had cast a series of cleaning charms before getting dressed. Snape found that Potters things took up a surprisingly small portion of his drawers, and most of them were school clothes. Potter finished dressing first, politely keeping his back turned as Snape finished and ran his wand over his chest, causing the line of small buttons to jump swiftly through their eyelets.

Tippy appeared as they were getting their things together to leave. Potter was already packed and following along in amusement as Snape tried to find all of the various piles of graded homework that tended to wander off.

The elf sighed in exasperation and handed Potter a piece of parchment before gathering up their breakfast dishes and disapparating. Snape finished gathering his papers and shuffled them into a cohesive pile before turning to see what Tippy had handed over.

It was their schedule, and they both immediately realised that they were about to be late for a first year defense class that previously had started almost an hour later. They had obviously missed the announcement before dinner the night before, having come in after the food had appeared. Without a word, Snape spun toward the door, hauling a scrambling Potter behind him.

They sprinted down the hall toward the stairs leading up, Snape already scowling, when suddenly Potter veered to the side, dragging Snape to a halt in front of a portrait of a young child in victorian era clothes.

“Pyotr, would you mind letting us through, we’ve had a bit of a schedule change, and I’m afraid we’ll be late otherwise,” Potter said politely to the child, cutting off Snape just as he started to move him toward the stairs physically.

“Harry Potter!” the child said excitedly, a decidedly Russian lilt to his high voice. “Yes, of course, I heard all about what happened.” This last was whispered in a conspiratorial tone, as if Snape wouldn’t hear, standing all of a quarter meter away.

The portrait swung open to show a high arch leading to a dark tunnel. “Thank you, Pyotr. I’ll come by soon so we can have another go at your game,” Potter called over his shoulder as he walked into the opening.

Something indecipherable was called back as the portrait swung shut, the darkness sudden and complete. Snape flicked his wand to light it and followed Potter's quick steps, the narrowness of the tunnel, forcing them to walk one in front of the other.

Just as Snape was about to snap and yell at Potter for taking them off on some ridiculous side path and making them even later, the boy turned and pushed on a small door that blended in with the wall so well he couldn’t see it until they were almost past it.

They emerged from behind a ridiculous mermaid statue, just around the corner from his classroom, with several minutes to spare. Potter turned and grinned at him as he grudgingly admitted to himself that the boy had gotten them there much faster than he could have.

“Come along Potter, we need to get set up,” he said briskly, pointedly refusing to acknowledge that Potter knew of any hidden passageways that he was unaware of.

Potter rolled his eyes but followed along into the classroom. After some debate, Snape extended his desk and drew a second chair up. They settled themselves, Potter dragging his charms book out of his bag, looking like he was planning on ignoring Snape for the class period.

“What do we have after this? I would prefer not to have to take short cuts through the castle to reach our destination in time,” Snape asked stiffly.

Potter reached under his robes and drew out their schedule from his baggy jeans pocket.

“We’ve got some of your second years coming in right after this, and then we have to be over to transfiguration before lunch. Then out to herbology, and then you’ve got your fourth year class coming in before we’re free for the day.” Potter finished, looking slightly put out at the back and forth. In all honesty, Snape wasn’t pleased with it either, but it seemed that Dumbledore had managed to shift his classes very little, which made sense as his schedule was the one that would affect the whole school.

“At least we don’t have the sixth year class today,” Potter said wryly.

  
Snape grimaced in agreement and turned to start his lessons.

* * *

Transfiguration at least went better than he expected. Hermione was camped at his left elbow as they took notes, Snape once again having charmed his hand so Harry could write. Harry felt like he finally understood what he had read through the previous week about choosing carefully which objects you transfigured into what.

McGonagall was explaining how every object had certain things that if you transfigured it into it would do so agreeably. The object might even choose to stay in its new form indefinitely, such as transfiguring a tea cozy into a scarf. They were both made for the same base purpose, to keep something warm, and therefore the inherent intent of the object was unchanged, lending it particular stability. The further you tried to change something from its original purpose, the harder it was, and the less likely you would succeed in a permanent transformation.

Someone truly talented at transfiguration wasn’t that way because they were powerful, McGonagall said, they were brilliant at it because they could see ways that objects were related most people wouldn’t notice. Harry felt many somethings click in his brain at this thought, and he had to drag his attention back to McGonagall as she sent feathers rushing through the air to land on each desk.

“Now, everyone, please think carefully before you begin. There will be 10 points to whichever student manages the most creative and stable transformation.” she announced, already eyeing Hermione “You are free to turn your feather into whatever catches your fancy, but please keep the point of the lesson in mind.”

Harry stared thoughtfully at the fluffy white feather as students all around him muttered, turning their feathers into a variety of increasingly strange things with varying success. Across the room, one of the Ravenclaw girls shrieked as her feather grew tiny legs and scurried off her desk in a bid for freedom.

Harry tapped his lip thoughtfully with his pen. A feather was a lot of things, soft and light and delicate, but none of those things felt right, they didn’t feel like what a feather WAS. He frowned and found himself thinking of Hedwig and what would happen to her if she were to lose all of her feathers. Other than looking extremely odd, she’d be quite cold and wouldn’t be able to hunt or fly at all. To her, a feather was warmth and protection. It was freedom and hunting and the strength to keep young safe. Those things were its purpose, and Harry thought they captured its feathery-ness well. Harry smiled as it occurred to him what else a feather might be comfortable being.

Harry looked over to find Snape eyeing him with interest. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d rather not risk catching the table on fire,” Harry said, indicating their linked arms and Seamus’ still smoking desk in one sweep. Snape gave him a long-suffering look but cast an additional sticking charm, sealing their forearms together so his wouldn’t drag and interrupt Harry’s wand movements.

Harry grinned and turned to flick his wand in an increasingly complex series of movements over his feather, muttering the spell and forcing the image of what he wanted to stay in his mind. It lit up, lifting as magic swirled around it. It hesitated for a tense second before flashing brightly and dropping with a resounding clang to the floor in front of his desk.

The nearest students spun at the noise to stare curiously at Harry, who was leaned over the desk, struggling to pick up an enormous glimmering steel shield that had a moment ago been a delicate white feather. Emblazoned on the front was a huge white owl, wings mantling protectively.

“Of course,” Hermione said from his left, holding what looked to be a miniature version of his firebolt. “Of course a feather would be a shield, Harry, that’s brilliant!” she exclaimed, too excited about the idea to be upset that she hadn’t thought of it, though she did cast a faintly suspicious look at Snape as if he would ever help Harry.

“Bloody hell mate, you think it’ll keep?” Ron asked from several desks away. The combination of Hermione and Snape had been too much for his friend, who had grimaced in apology before sitting down next to Dean.

“I believe so, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall said, coming up to investigate. She raised her wand and poked around the edges of the shield, a satisfied look on her face. “Well, Mr. Potter, would you care to explain how you managed to turn a feather into several kilograms of steel?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

Harry squirmed as everyone turned to look at him. “Well, when you think about it, a feather is just a lightweight shield, right?” Harry answered, getting confused looks back from almost everyone. “They were grown to be strong, to keep the bird safe, so I figured it wouldn’t mind so much being a different sort of shield,” he finished somewhat self consciously.

Snape was staring at him incredulously, his eyes darting to the shield now leaned innocently against Harry’s leg. “I believe that will be 10 points to Gryffindor then,” McGonagall said rather smugly to Snape, who glared in response and pointedly raised a silencing charm as he bent back over his grading.

McGonagall turned to Harry with a slight smirk. “Would you mind Mr. Potter if I kept that? I would rather like to see if it decides to stay in that form and to show the other class,” she said, motioning toward the shield.

Harry willingly gave it to her, smiling at having, for possibly the first time, done something that left Snape speechless.

Of course, the rest of the day couldn’t go well for him. Harry had expected it, transfiguration having been a pleasant surprise. They ate lunch in the Great Hall, the Gryffindor table watching him with looks of pity as he tried to maneuver spoon fulls of beef stew into his mouth while Snape jiggled his bound arm impatiently, having pushed his plate away after only a few bites. Harry was becoming convinced that the man lived entirely off of biscuits and the despair of his students.

Frustrated, Harry grabbed the nearest basket of rolls and shoved them at Snape. “Here, for Merlin’s sake, eat something and stop bouncing us,” he snapped his patience at an end.

Snape glanced at him in surprise and immediately stilled their arms, looking slightly embarrassed. He pushed the basket of rolls away, much to Harry’s displeasure, but he kept his opinion to himself. If the skinny bastard wanted to starve himself, that was his business.

When they finally left the Great Hall and headed outside toward the greenhouses, Snape leaned down to whisper furiously at Harry, spots of color high on his cheeks. “You’ve no right commenting on my eating habits Potter. In the future, keep your ridiculous concerns to yourself,” he snarled.

Harry glared back at Snape but lifted his free hand in surrender. “Fine, it’s not my problem if you want to starve yourself, but if you wouldn’t mind waiting until after we figure out the whole bonding thing, I’d rather not carry your corpse around,” he snipped back.

Snape blinked at him but let it go, lengthening his strides until Harry had to jog to keep up.

Herbology started poorly and careened downhill from there. Since Ron had opted not to take Herbology as it wasn’t on the required list for Auror training, it was usually Harry, Hermione, Dean, and Neville at a table. This time though, Neville gave Snape one terrified look and turned to sit a table over with two Slytherins. They looked surprised but pleased. Everyone knew sitting with Neville was a guaranteed outstanding for the day, and the Gryffindors were regarded with jealousy for having him.

Dean veered off to sit beside Neville, only looking mildly apologetic. “Wonderful,” Harry murmured. Hermione looked sadly at the now full table next to them, even though her scores on her own were almost as good as Neville’s. Harry, feeling somewhat betrayed, glanced over just in time to see Draco Malfoy come to a halt at Neville’s new table. Dean was sitting in the Slytherin's regular seat and looked like he would defend it to the death.

Malfoy sneered at him and turned to see what was available. He had come in late, and the only two spots left were at Harry and Hermione’s table. His face went somehow an even pastier white as his eyes landed on Snape. He stared down for a moment, color rising in his cheeks, before trudging over to drop into the seat furthest from their potions master.

Incidentally, this put him next to Hermione, who scooted her stool away from him, a look of distaste on her face.  
“Oh shut it, Granger, it’s not like I have anything catching,” Malfoy snapped. Hermione spun on him, making him jerk back before he caught himself.

“I don’t know Malfoy, it seems like the Dark Mark is contagious, isn’t it?” she retorted, her eyes darting to his covered left arm. Malfoy yanked his arm into his stomach protectively as Snape stiffened and turned slightly away. Hermione seemed to realise what she had said and reached out as if to pat Snape in reassurance that she had not intended the barb for him but halted her hand at the last moment. Harry shot her a look. He really didn’t need any help in making Snape’s mood worse.

The class didn’t get any better, culminating when one of the Crawling Ferns they were supposed to be trimming fiddleheads from managed to sneak up behind Hermione while she was distracted and coil itself into her hair. It took Harry and finally, after a very pointed look from Sprout, Snape, to get it loose, by which point class was almost over, and they had barely scraped an Acceptable. Malfoy had the audacity to complain that he had harvested the requested amount since he had continued working and ignored the plant attacking his tablemate. Sprout pointed out that while he might have done his portion, grades were based on the success of the entire table.

Malfoy left with a scowl, knocking his shoulder into Neville’s on the way by, earning himself a glare and shout of censure from Sprout.

By the time they made it back to the castle, both Harry and Snape were in a terrible mood, and Hermione had stomped off to the library, muttering about white haired gits.

They made it through Snape’s final class, though the group of fourth year Gryffindor girls that broke out in giggles every time Harry looked at them were there. Snape lost his patience the third time it happened, even though Harry had only looked up when one of the girls dropped a book. Thirty lost points later, they sat in sullen silence, and Harry finished his transfiguration homework while receiving occasional glares from Snape as if he was somehow to blame.

They finally settled into bed that night, having once again avoided the topic of a shower and cast increasingly powerful cleaning charms on themselves. Harry spent a long time awake, the room lit gently with the dying embers from the small fireplace tucked into the corner of the room, and listened to Snape’s breathing finally even out. As he started to drift off, it occurred to him that he hadn’t felt the fog encase him in days.

* * *

The next two days were a frantic scramble of the two of them trying to keep up with their new schedules. Suddenly adding a whole other life to yours was not the smoothest transition, so by the time Friday rolled around, they were both strung tight and snapping at everyone, not just each other. The last class of the day was double potions, which Snape had been dreading having to sit through.

He knew how Slughorn taught, and he had never liked it, not even as a student himself. On top of that, Slughorn had spent the whole term praising Potter and less than subtly suggesting that Snape’s teaching methods were to blame for Potter's poor performance. Added to the end of a maddening week and it was a wonder that they made it to potions at all.

Potter warily walked into the Potions classroom, Snape in tow. Slughorn had cheerfully greeted Potter and motioned to the desk in the front row, which Potter pretended not to see as he veered toward the back of the room to sit by Granger and a few seats back from Weasley, who was still avoiding the situation and who quite frankly should never have been allowed behind a cauldron again. He knew he should have given Weasley an acceptable and prevented him from entering even Slughorn’s class.

The classroom looked much the same as when he had taught there, though there were slightly fewer preserved specimens on display and no pile of dirty cauldrons stacked on the back table, waiting for that night's detention. He had balanced them there, in clear view, so that the troublemakers knew what they were risking. Otherwise, it was just as cold and dark as he remembered, and he had a sudden surge of nostalgia. He might have hated teaching, but he had spent a good chunk of his adult life in this room.

Slughorn wrote the potions name and page number up on the board with no further instructions, much to Snape’s disgust. The instructions for the shrinking potion in the book neglected to mention that if it was dried, they needed to add almost twice the amount of shrivlefig, and Snape knew that Horace wouldn’t have bothered to walk to the greenhouses for fresh. He held his tongue as Potter and Granger got their supplies out and looked up the ingredients in their books. Potter’s book was oddly shabby as if he’d bought it second hand. Perhaps he hadn’t been left as much money as Snape had assumed.

Potter moved to stand, bringing Snape with him. “I’ll go get everything ‘Mione,” he said. Students cleared out of their way surprisingly quickly when faced with their old potions master in his domain, much to Potters obvious delight. Potter quickly collected the needed supplies, including the dried shrivlefig. Just as Snape was leaning down to whisper to him to double the amount, not considering why he felt the sudden need to assist, he noticed that Potter had already done so. He looked at the boy in confusion. How in Merlin’s name did he know to get extra? Snape knew potions masters who wouldn’t have remembered to do so.

Snape was lost in thought on the way back to the table and had almost managed to convince himself that Horace was right, and he had somehow taught Potter so poorly that some natural talent had been suppressed. The boy had already surprised him during his classes that week, asking intelligent questions and that transfiguration lesson had been honestly shocking.

Snape glanced over to see how they were doing, almost ready to apologize to Potter when he saw familiar handwriting on the page of Potter’s potion book.

“Potter, where did you get that book?” he asked, deep voice deceptively quiet. At his tone, Potter slowly slid it out of reach. The boy had always had excellent self preservation instincts.

“I didn’t have a book at the start of the year, so Professor Slughorn found an old one for me,” he explained defensively.

A look of unholy glee was falling over Snape’s face, making both Granger and Potter look uncertain. “I knew it. I knew you were cheating somehow. You’re a complete idiot with potions,” Snape said, sounding distractedly happy as he contemplated how many points he could take for this.

Harry scowled, “I am not cheating,” he hissed quietly, “I just took a few suggestions someone wrote in the book is all.”

Snape sneered and dropped his voice. “A few suggestions, Potter? You’re telling me you haven’t been using someone else’s work for the entire term? " he said disbelievingly. “You might as well write Prince on all your vials instead of your name. I’ll see you in detention for the rest of the year for this.”

To Snape’s surprise, Potter gave him a condescending look. “ And where exactly will you be while I’m serving every night in detention then?” he responded.

Snape pulled a face, realising his dilemma. While sending Potter to unending detention was a reoccurring dream of his, even he had to admit that it wasn’t worth him having to sit through it as well.

“Wait, how did you know that name?” Potter suddenly asked alarmed. Snape cursed himself for the slip, but he supposed it would be almost as satisfying to let the boy know who exactly he had been listening to all this time.

“I’ll give you a clue, you idiot boy, my mother’s family name is Prince, and my father is a muggle,” he said, practically radiating smugness as Granger gasped and Potters face bleached of color, only to flush embarrassed red a moment later.

“But the handwriting looks nothing like yours,” Potter hissed with desperation. By now, Granger was looking at them both with wide eyes, having caught pieces of the conversation.

Snape raised an eyebrow at him, “My hand was broken in several places and wasn’t easily reassembled. My writing changed. You can thank your sainted father for that,” he whispered.

Potter just stared at him blankly before turning back to his potion, seemingly having no idea how to address the accusation. Snape reached around him and yanked the book out of Potters lax grip. He was almost disappointed that the boy hadn’t put up more of a fight.

“Let’s see how well Slughorn likes you now, Potter,” Snape said with satisfaction. If he couldn’t send the boy to detention, he could at least take away his means of cheating. Besides, there were dangerous spells in the book, ones he had invented, that he didn’t want anyone else learning.

He spent the remainder of the class pointedly ignoring Potter and snorting at Horace's poor instructions.

Since Potter had had a chance to read the instructions beforehand, he managed to make a passable shrinking solution, much to Slughorn’s vocal approval. As they were packing up a small paper areoplane fluttered up to them, Albus’ looping scrawl visible in the folds.

Snape grabbed it out of the air and read through it quickly. “Come along, Potter, the Headmaster wishes to see us.”

The boy looked up hopefully. “Do you think he’s figured out how to break it?” he asked. Snape frowned, trying to hide his hope. “I’ve no idea Potter, that’s why I suggested that we do as we were asked and go see.”

Potter had the grace to flush at his tone and hurry behind him out of the classroom. They made good time through the halls, mostly deserted as everyone trickled toward the Great Hall for dinner.  
“Jelly slugs,” Snape declared, black robes billowing as they approached the gargoyle, which jumped aside just as Snape walked through, never slowing as he climbed the moving staircase.

Potter followed along behind him, grumbling under his breath. As they arrived at Dumbledore’s office, the door swung open before he could knock. He strode in, the boy at his heels.

“Hello, my boys” Dumbledore greeted them “how are you both today?” he asked as he motioned them into the deep leather chairs in front of his desk. Fawkes trilled a gentle greeting from his perch by the window before swooping down to land on the back of Potter's chair.

“Passable Headmaster. Do you have any news for us?” Snape answered, watching out of the corner of his eye as the flame-red bird leaned down to carefully groom Potter's hair.

“Certainly,” Albus responded jovially as he stood to offer them tea, revealing robes a particularly eye watering shade of fuchsia. “I believe we have found the spell that Voldemort used or at least the spell he based it on.”

Snape took the offered tea absently. “What spell was it?” he asked.  
Dumbledore settled himself back behind his desk, cluttered as always with bits of magical debris. “I believe it to be a version of an old Celtic power sharing spell. It was originally designed to allow those with greater magic to link for a short time and safely work together on feats they would not have been able to accomplish otherwise,” the Headmaster explained.

Snape frowned at this as it didn’t explain the unbreakable bond portion to it at all. He was interrupted by a quick knock on the door. Albus waved a hand, and the door swung open to admit a bushy haired Gryffindor. “Sorry I’m late Professor, I had to go back to my dorm to get the book,” she said, crossing the room swiftly to settle in the chair beside Potter. To his credit, he didn’t look at all surprised to see his best friend and greeted her with a relaxed smile.

“Miss Granger has been kind enough to share her research with me. She is the one that found the book with the spell we believe is the base,” Albus continued, approval clear in his voice. “Miss Granger, perhaps you could explain your theory to them?”

Granger sat forward on the edge of her seat, the same pose she took when answering a question in class. “Of course. Has the Headmaster told you about the original spell?” she asked them, waiting a moment for their nods. “Well, my theory is that Voldemort blended the temporary power sharing charm with the spell he uses for the Dark Mark,” she explained, a small frown marring her delicate features. “Because the Dark Mark already has aspects of power sharing, and it is a bonding spell, I think he likely used parts from both but changed them enough to work around the portion of the Dark Mark that requires the willingness of both parties.”

Snape sat very still as his mind whirled through the logic behind this and the ramifications if she was right. And it was likely she was right. The Dark Lord was inventive but did not like to leave things to chance, so he would have most likely used a spell he was intimately familiar with. And the Dark Mark was something he had adapted decades prior, from a spell no one recognized. A horrible thought hit him at that “If this is correct, we’ve no way to undo it. As far as we can tell, the Dark Mark is unbreakable,” Snape said in a choked voice.

Beside him, Potter made a distressed noise “Wait, we can’t get rid of it? We’re stuck like this?” he said, his panicked expression somewhat mitigated by the fact that a phoenix was busily rearranging his hair into incomprehensible shapes.

Granger broke first at the ridiculous sight and let out a tiny snort of laughter. She quickly got hold of herself enough to answer when Harry glared at her. “I don’t believe it’s the same spell. I think it has weaknesses, but we’ll need to test them. I think, at the very least, we might be able to give you both a small amount of space,” she said.

Potter sat forward at this, causing Fawkes to give an indignant squawk. “How much space?” he asked, as Snape leaned closer in interest as well.

“I’m not sure yet. It’ll depend on how well you can control your magic” her gaze was rather pointedly resting on Potter, which he thought was completely fair of her. “The bracelets are tied to your magic and are powered by you, kind of like a magical parasite. If you can pull most of your magic just inside your skin instead of letting it spill over, it should negate a fair amount of the effects,” she finished.

Snape considered this before responding. “What you are suggesting would only work as long as we were both actively concentrating. I hardly think this is much of a solution.”

“Now Severus, Miss Granger has worked very hard and found more than any of the rest of us about this,” Albus said, censor in his voice.  
Snape waved a hand, interrupting the Headmaster. “I was not disparaging her work, simply mentioning that while more room may be helpful, it is not the solution,” he explained.

Granger picked up the book in her lap and handed it to him. “I believe that there are a few solutions to permanently breaking the bond. There are several cases that I marked that show that it should be possible, in theory at least” she offered.

“What kind of ways Hermione?” Potter asked, not bothering to question her conclusions. Truthfully Snape was inclined to take her for her word as well, but he would look through her work anyway.

“Well, the most effective is to kill Voldemort,” she said matter of factly “that should release the spell since I’m fairly certain he used his blood to create it. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been able to recognize you, Harry.” Potter shuddered at the reminder that his blood had helped to make the body the Dark Lord now wore.

“The second way would be if one of you died. It wouldn’t have anything to connect to, so would go dormant, releasing the other person,” Granger said, pushing her hair back out of her face.

Snape couldn’t stop himself from turning to Potter. “There, see, if I starve to death, you won’t have to drag my corpse around,” he said in an oddly victorious tone, making both Granger and Dumbledore shoot him looks of confusion, ones he didn’t notice because Potter was laughing.

He’d thrown his head back, black hair wild and green eyes shining as he laughed. Snape was startled to find that a curl of warmth bloomed in his chest at the sound.

“Well yes, then,” Granger continued as Potter settled, flustered at the odd conversation. “The third way has the most chance of working. If we can figure out the spells at least partially, we can likely break it. The only problem with that is that we would need at least a small bit of Voldemort’s blood. Blood curses don’t break without the original blood used.” she said as if that were an actual option.

“So what you’re saying Miss Granger is that Potter and I are very much stuck together and should work on making it more livable unless we want to kill each other or the Dark Lord” Snape deadpanned.

Granger returned his look steadily. “That’s about the size of it, yes,” she answered. He nodded thoughtfully. “Very well. I will read through your references over the weekend and let you know if I come to any other conclusions. Thank you for your help,” he said politely.

Potter looked at him, nonplussed, before turning to Granger. “Yeah, thanks ‘Mione. I know how busy you are with class, not sure how you managed to fit all this in, too,” he said the last with a small measure of suspicion.

“Well then, my boys, it looks like we’re all caught up for now,” Dumbledore said.

“Albus, we also need to speak about the blocking spell you have in place,” Snape said pointedly, not willing to avoid the subject. If he and Potter were truly stuck together until they managed to kill Voldemort, then Potter would need to know more than he currently did. A great deal more.

“Yes, of course, Severus. I am looking into a solution now. Would you be so kind as to put off the meeting until after Christmas?” Albus asked, a note of something that sounded oddly like regret in his voice.

Snape paused, his dark eyes narrowed. “Very well, but not any further. Plans must be made,” he finished cryptically, catching Potter's look of frustration. Unthinkingly he shifted slightly, brushing his hand against Potters in silent reassurance. Potters face cleared somewhat as he took a deep breath, even though his jaw remained taught, trusting Snape for now.

Albus smiled and rose to see them out, his blackened hand tucked into the sleeve of his robe. Snape eyed him for a moment before rising, bringing Potter with him. Fawkes trilled a sad goodbye before fluttering up to his perch and stuffing his head behind his wing as the odd group trooped out.

Potter waved a tired goodbye to Granger as they separated to go to their respective rooms, and it occurred to Snape that Potter had not once in the time they had been together demanded that they spend time with his friends, not that he would have agreed, but it was curious. He wasn’t sure if that was for his sake or his friends, but the result was the same.

They made it back to the dungeons well after dinner had finished and elected to ask Tippy to bring them something. Potter had also requested that she ask an elf named Dobby to bring Granger dinner. When Snape questioned why he didn’t just ask Tippy to take her dinner, he had muttered something about Dobby being paid wages and Granger not accepting food from any other elf. He chose not to explore further for his sanity.

When they got into bed that night, Snape was so tired he just stretched out, blankets tucked haphazardly over himself, and was asleep before Potter had even settled.

* * *

They made it almost eight full days of being bound before things finally boiled over. They made it through awkward classes and through trying to work around having a limb restricted, which, as it turned out, was harder on Snape than on Potter because brewing was almost impossible. They had managed to muddle through meals, bathrooms, and the bolster that Potter had been trying to decide on a name for because 'Anything that stands guard between you and me should have the honor of being named.' Snape decided that somewhere along the way, maybe as far back as the killing curse, Potter had lost the plot.

Despite this, they had actually managed to be mostly civil to each other, but their Monday had started horribly and had simply gone downhill.  
Snape had been woken in the early hours of the morning by Potter screaming himself awake and thrashing, dragging Snape partially over his carefully constructed separating wall before he had woken fully.

“Potter, what the hell is wrong with you?” Snape growled, his already deep voice sleep rough. Potter was panting too hard, his body shaking the mattress with shudders.

“Bad dreams, sorry to wake you” he finally got out “just go back to sleep, I won’t wake you again.”

“And how can you promise to not have any more nightmares?” Snape asked, sleepy and confused. His nightmares tended to rise as soon as he went back to sleep when he was having a bad night.

A humorless laugh came from Potter's side of the bed. “It’s a bit harder to have nightmares when you’re awake.”

It took Snape a minute to understand, his brain not yet fully engaged. “You don’t sleep after your nightmares?” Snape asked curiously.

“No, never,” Potter answered shortly. “Just go back to sleep, I won’t wake you again.”

Snape was silent for a long moment as he came to terms with his day starting several hours before he had planned. With a quick flick of his wrist, he wordlessly and wandlessly lit the candles in the room. Potter was flat on his back looking fairly terrible, skin almost as pale as Snape’s, dark hair so mussed that it wasn’t so much defying gravity as creating its own tiny, messy dimension.

His chest was still heaving under the thin grey material of his overlarge t-shirt, his loose flannel trousers twisted around his legs as if he had been thrashing in his sleep.  
Potter gave him a puzzled look as Snape moved their as yet unnamed bolster and tossed it on top of their somewhat intimidating mountain of pillows.

“You don’t think I’m going to let you just lie there in the dark for the next few hours, do you Potter?” Snape asked, his long hair decidedly ruffled and somewhat ruining his stern look. The expression on Potters face told him clearly that the boy did indeed think he would just let him lie there for the rest of the night.

Potter gave him a pitifully grateful look as they slid out of bed and made their way onto the couch, both of them wrapping themselves in blankets and thumping down in the middle of the sofa. Snape simply sat staring blearily at the fire, Potters shoulder planted firmly against his own. He didn’t ask about the dream and Potter didn’t talk about it. He knew all too well the nightmares that could haunt a man. Sometimes it felt as though giving voice to them would make them real, bring them out into the harsh light of day and prove them to be true.

So he sat instead, his mind drifting, offering silent comfort in the darkest hours of the night, realising as he did so how much he wished he had someone to sit with him when his nightmares took him. Perhaps Potter would be there for him when he needed it too, he caught himself thinking.

Snape snorted softly at his ridiculous thoughts and quickly squashed the rising hope. Of course, Potter wouldn’t, even if they were stuck together for the foreseeable future, it wasn’t like Potter would care enough to sit up with him. He surely would take the out he had given Severus and simply go back to sleep, he thought uncharitably, scowling.

By the time Tippy arrived with tea, surprise making her ears twitch to find both of them out of bed, Severus was in a temper. While he was used to missing sleep, it never put him in a good mood. Additionally, Severus was a solitary man, and between his death eater activities, his personality, and his general distaste of most people, he was not a man used to company. Potter had been his constant companion for more than a week, which would have been more than enough to set him off, but all at once he found himself focusing on the gentle touches that were becoming more common between the two of them. It hadn’t bothered him in the beginning, he had even rather pitifully welcomed it, but suddenly it seemed like too much.

He was not a man used to casual touches. People didn’t brush against him or touch his arm to get his attention. They went out of their way to avoid him, the only exceptions the Headmaster on rare occasions and Poppy or Tippy when he was injured. He found himself utterly unable to remember the last time that anyone else had touched him until Potter.

He found himself constantly in contact with some portion of the boy, who frustratingly enough seemed to not notice where his limbs were. He was continuously bumping into Severus, knocking shoulders or knees together, reaching over him for something, even tapping him to get his attention.

Severus grumbled through their morning routine, Potter shooting him concerned looks but keeping to himself. They made it all the way through breakfast and were almost to the Defense classroom for their one joint class that Potter was actually in instead of just being a quiet presence at his desk when Potter turned to him rather sullenly. “You didn’t have to get up, you know, it’s not like I asked you to.”

Severus felt anger well up immediately at Potters tone “What are you talking about you stupid boy?” he snapped.

Harry yanked them to a stop, anger contorting his features “I wouldn’t have told you I couldn’t go back to sleep and kept you up if I would have known you’d spend the rest of the day being an utter wanker!” Potter yelled at him, causing several students to halt to watch the spectacle.  
Snape snarled and drug Potter into an empty classroom, throwing privacy wards up as he whipped around “20 points from Gryffindor for your language Potter,” he said viciously.

“Oh, of course. Of course, you would just take points instead of talking to me like a normal bloody person because you can’t do that, can you?” Potter said sarcastically.

“10 more points Potter! Do you want to make it an even 50?” Snape yelled, pushing himself into Potter's personal space, forcing the boy to crane his neck back to look him in the eye.

“Why the hell not, it’s not like you’re going to tell me what’s got your knickers in a twist now are you?” Potter snapped back.

“You want to know what’s _got my knickers in a twist_ as you so eloquently put it?” Snape asked, his voice going whiny as he mocked Potter, who just stared back at him in challenge, so close now that their chests brushed with each gasping breath.

“You Potter. You and your constant chatter, your ridiculous muggle clothes, the fact you can’t seem to help yourself, and just have to clean up everything. You and your constant fucking touching!” he screamed the last directly into Potter's startled face. Potter quickly backed away, something that looked surprisingly like hurt crossing his face before a neutral expression masked it.

“I apologize, Professor. I didn’t realise I had been upsetting you,” Potter said stiffly, moving as far back as he could without stretching their arms unreasonably. Snape deflated all at once, panting after his outburst, his anger gone, and confusion slipping in to take its place. The look Potter was giving him told him that his reaction had been telling, but what Potter got from it, he couldn’t guess.

“Perhaps we should go to class, sir,” Potter remarked quietly. Snape simply nodded in response, following Potter from the room.

* * *

They spent the entire lesson carefully avoiding eye contact, even when Harry had to face off against Ron during the practical portion. Not that Ron was very enthusiastic. He was terrified of possibly missing Harry and hitting Snape instead, earning himself at the very least detention, though knowing Snape a trip to the hospital wing wasn’t out of the question.

Snape seemed relatively subdued though, only taking a few points, even when Seamus managed to throw Dean into a group of Slytherins with a carelessly cast disarming charm.  
As the class ended and students began to grab bags, Hermione came up to the front where Harry had a chair set up next to Snape’s desk.

She turned slightly, putting her back to Snape and cast a light muffling charm. “Harry, is everything alright?” she asked, her face scrunched in concern.

“Yeah, ‘Mione, it's fine, just had a bit of a tiff with the great git,” he responded, angling his head in Snape's direction.

She frowned at his explanation, “Oh Harry, what happened? You two looked like were getting along?” she asked, worry in her voice. Harry sighed and cut his eyes to Snape, who was studiously ignoring them in favor of carefully arranging the essays that had just been turned in.

“Apparently we weren’t doing as well as I thought,” Harry said bluntly. “He let me know this morning how much he hates having me stuck to him.” he sat for a second, then continued in a rush “Not that I’m having a great time with it mind you, he just hadn’t been as terrible as I expected him to be” he finished miserably.

Hermione’s frown deepened, hearing the thread of hurt in her best friend's voice. “What exactly did he say, Harry?”

“Basically that I talked too much, cleaned up too much, wore too many muggle clothes, and touched him too much,” he said the last with the same vitriol that Snape had.

Surprisingly this made Hermione’s face clear. “Harry, do you remember when we first became friends?” she asked, consideringly.  
“Yeah, course I do. What’s that got to do with Snape being a git?” Harry asked puzzled.

“Well, do you remember right before Ron and I left for the holidays first year? We were in the common room, and we were both sitting next to you, and you just jumped up and yelled at us?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, I remember,” Harry said, frowning, “You know I apologized for that. It was just that I wasn’t used to anyone touching me and...” he trailed off, a look of shocked understanding settling onto his face. “You’re brilliant, you know that right ‘Mione?”

“I know,” she responded with a smile as she took down the privacy charm. “Let me know when you can study, Harry,” she commented.

With that, she turned to go, but spun back a moment later and looked at Snape. “Try to remember that he might understand,” she said primly to him before she vanished out the door.

Harry’s startled bark of laughter followed her.

* * *

Snape spent the entire conversation Granger had with Potter trying his best not to stare at them, only partially succeeding. He caught glimpses of Potter's expressions, which ranged from the expected anger to shock and finally to warm affection for his friend.

Snape turned resolutely away, something unpleasant curling in his stomach. He knew he had been harsh with the boy, and that he wasn’t truly angry with him but with the situation. He didn’t even really mind Potter's presence. They got along surprisingly well now that he didn't have to play the closet Death Eater. Potter didn’t talk all that much, occasionally commenting on something he was reading, or a passive appeal for help when he didn’t understand. Snape couldn’t understand why the boy cleaned up behind them like the castle's most diligent house elf, but it didn’t bother him. He hadn’t managed to misplace his favorite self inking red quill even once this week. It was in its spot on his desk as soon as he went looking for it, as opposed to his typical hunt through the cushions, ending only when he had stabbed himself with the nib.

The boy did have awful clothes, though, he thought with a grimace. They were all several sizes too big, with the exception of the hideous Weasley jumpers, and they made Potter look thinner and younger than he was. Snape was sure that Potter would have been left a fair amount of money by his parents. After all, even James Potter couldn’t have managed to spend all of his fortunes before he died.

Snape swallowed heavily as he thought about the last thing he had screamed at the boy. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much. Maybe it was just that he wasn’t used to having someone in such close proximity, and it was making him jumpy. Perhaps he truly hated being touched, but that idea didn’t feel right. He hadn’t minded the gentle brush of Potter’s hand at first, had even returned it.

Snape stared blankly at his desk as he tried to decipher what about it bothered him so much. He hadn’t managed to make any sense of it by the time Granger dropped the silencing charm.

Snape was opening his mouth the call her back to ask her a follow-up question on the book she had found when she turned and spoke, her tone gently rebuking. Snape was so surprised that he just stood there dumbly for a moment before finally turning to look at the still faintly smiling Potter.

Potter sobered immediately and just shrugged at him. He cursed himself for the sudden distance he could see in the vibrant green eyes. Wanting to find a way to erase that coldness was his only excuse for what came out of his mouth, though he did catch himself scowling as he wondered why he cared.

“We should be practicing dueling,” Snape heard himself say. Potter blinked at the sudden change in topic.

“Alright, but I assume you mean dueling other people? Cause if you’re looking to duel me, I’m afraid I won’t be much of a challenge,” Potter answered, raising his left hand and swishing it like it held a wand.

Snape scowled at him “Of course I mean other people. We need to be prepared since the bond will likely be in place for longer than we would like.”

Potter got a considering look on his face. “You’re right, actually,” he agreed reluctantly. “I was thinking about that, and we won’t last long if we get attacked as we are,” Potter said mildly. “and I think I know a way for us to practice,” he added, a devious smile changing his normally pleasant features into something alarming.

Snape just nodded and sighed, wondering what he had gotten himself into. At least Potter didn’t look mad at him anymore.

* * *

Four days later, Snape found himself following Potter up to the seventh floor, no longer caring what he had agreed to if it would just return them to the wary sort of peace they had before his outburst.

Unlike previously, Potter had spent the last several days being unfailingly polite. He never interrupted Severus, never asked him questions, instead choosing to send poorly folded paper birds through the floo to the Gryffindor common room, questions about his homework scrawled over them for Granger to answer.  
Severus had managed to lose his quill three times and still hadn’t recovered it from the most recent misplacement.

And somehow, despite being tied to the man, Potter had managed to almost completely avoid touching him. He sat far enough away that there was no possibility that legs or shoulders could knock. He managed to eat with his left hand, keeping his right curled into a loose fist to prevent their fingers from brushing. If Snape didn’t know any better, he would have suspected Potter had cast a mild repelling charm on himself.

He had even borrowed a self dictating quill from the Lovegood girl, negating the need for Severus to grudgingly help him write. The quill was working well, except with Potter's care of magical creatures homework, which seemed to bring out a strangely fanciful side in it. Hagrid had pulled him aside that morning and asked quietly if Potter was aware that Nargles were not a recognized magical creature. He seemed more concerned that he potentially wasn’t teaching well than with whether or not Potter had lost the plot.

Snape had been horrified to realise that he almost missed the strange relationship that had been forming between the two of them.

That thought had been so pitiful that Snape had ridiculed himself mercilessly and spent half the day snapping at everyone around him. His bad mood had been somewhat negated by Potter giving out apologetic looks after he stormed past, dragging the boy along behind him.

It wasn’t until he woke early one morning to hear Potter gasping quietly on the other side of the bolster, obviously trying to silence himself after a nightmare that he grudgingly accepted that he had made a mistake when he hadn’t tried to apologize.

“Potter, are you alright” he called quietly.

A sharply drawn breath came, then “Yes, of course, Professor, I just woke for a moment, please don’t let me disturb you,” Potter responded, his voice tightly controlled and carefully pleasant.

“Potter, don’t lie to me,” Snape said warningly.

Potter sighed softly “Professor I’m fine, I’ve no need for you to involve yourself,” he said with a pleasant but hard finality.

Snape had gone quiet and spent the rest of the night staring into the darkness of his room, listening to Potter doing the same and wondering why that dismissive tone in his voice bothered him so much.

Now he found them stopped in front of a blank stretch of wall, Potter giving him a thoughtful look. For a terrible moment, Snape was sure that Potter had dragged him up here in some sort of elaborate plot to mock Snape. His insecurities came roaring to the surface as a group of older students, many of them Potter’s friends, came around the corner and halted next to them.

Snape felt his back snap straighter, his shoulders stiffening as childhood memories of Potter, Black and Lupin flooded back; more than a few incidents had started with confusion and a handy group of onlookers.

Just as Snape was working himself up to storm off, dragging Potter with him, the boy spoke.  
“Neville, could you set us up with our usual practice room, please?” he asked Longbottom, who stood near the front of the group, looking warily at Snape. Granger and Weasley stood stiffly side by side, Miss Brown wrapped around Weasley’s arm like a limpet. Granger arched an eyebrow at him, a pointed look of expectation on her face.

“Yeah, of course, Harry,” Longbottom answered, moving to pace in front of the blank wall.  
Potter glanced over at him, a small smile on his face, only for it to fall when he saw the expression Snape was wearing.

“It’s the room of requirement. We used it all last year to practice defense and get away from Umbridge” Potter reassured him softly, his fingers brushing gently over Snape's knuckles for the first time in days. Snape scowled at being transparent enough that Potter felt the need to reassure him.

“You mean to tell me that the army Umbridge accused you of starting was real?” Snape asked, dumbfounded. He relaxed at Potter's tone and the touch on his hand, feeling oddly comforted and confusedly angry about it.

Potter grinned at him, laughter coming from those close enough to hear their conversation. “Yes, though maybe less of an army than Umbridge made it out to be.”

“When you mentioned dueling practice, I had a word with a few of the DA to see if anyone would be interested in helping us,” Potter explained as he urged Snape gently toward a door that had only appeared after Longbottom had paced in front of the wall.

Snape walked into what could only be described as the perfect practice room for defense. There were dummies set up that spun and fired off stinging hexes in all directions as soon as someone got close enough to activate one. Finnigan had already managed to catch a hex across his arm before he scrambled out of range.  
There were targets everywhere, hung from walls and the ceiling, even floating lazily past. Huge piles of cushions offered safe landing places, and the whole room seemed to be covered in heavy cushioning charms.  
“It’s fireproof too,” Potter commented rather smugly. “Though that didn’t happen until after Seamus lit the cushions,” he finished, looking mildly disgruntled at the memory.

Snape looked at the group of smiling students milling around them “You all spent all of last year working on your defense techniques here?” he asked sternly. Everyone nodded at him in answer. “Then why is it, with all the extra practice, you all are still abysmal in my class?” he snarked.

Complete silence descended, scowls falling over the whole circle, the only exception being Granger, who was wearing a look of mild amusement. A heavy pause, then Potters abrupt laughter cut through the tension, his time constantly spent with Snape letting him see the small curl of the man’s mouth for what it was, a relatively weak attempt at teasing.

Everyone relaxed, a few chuckles making their way through the group before Potter started barking out rapid fire orders, sending some of the younger students toward the targets, pairing up others, and holding a group of six back to work with them directly. Interestingly enough, Potter sent the Weasley boy away with a request he work with a few fourth years that had trickled timidly in but kept the youngest Weasley and Granger with them.

Snape bent down to murmur in Potter's ear just as Harry turned toward him, finding himself closer than was absolutely necessary, “Are you entirely certain that including Finnigan and Longbottom in the group is a wise choice?” he asked, eyebrow arched in doubt.

Potter tilted his head up to answer, their cheeks almost brushing as he spoke. “Yes, because having Seamus is the closest we can come to having completely unpredictable spells coming at us, and Neville has some of the fastest shield work I’ve ever seen,” he answered in a conspiratorial voice.

Snape felt something strange catch in his throat at the closeness and the tone that, just for a moment, made him feel included in this peculiar world of Potter’s. He found himself trying to find something to say just to keep Potter there a moment longer, but Harry was already moving away, his breath ghosting across Snape's jaw as he turned to the group.

Snape looked up just in time to catch the confused look on Ginevra Weasley’s face as her eyes darted between them. He felt his typical sneer twisting his face as he looked back at her. He didn’t know why, but he felt strangely protective of this odd friendship he was trying to fix, and he didn’t want the youngest Weasley interfering.

A tug on his left arm brought his attention back to Potter. “Everyone, please stick to mild hexes, for now, be prepared to face both offensive and defensive spells, and for my sake, try not to hit me with too many things when you’re aiming for Snape,” he said, gifting the group with a wry smile.

Snape stared down at him, mildly appalled, but couldn’t disagree with Potters assessment. He couldn’t think of a single one of his students, Slytherin included, that wouldn’t gleefully take the opportunity to attack him with no repercussions.

As the group moved back, automatically spreading out far enough to clear each other's line of fire, he heaved a dramatic sigh. “Potter, may I remind you if they kill me, you might be free, but you’ll have to explain it to the Headmaster,” he said as he readied his wand.  
A snort of laughter was his only answer before Potter gave some sort of starting signal, and their corner of the room exploded with hexes.


	4. Chapter 4

_I been getting used to waking up with you_   
_I been getting used to waking up here_   
_Anywhere I go there you are_   
_Anywhere I go there you are_   
_There you are_   
_There you are_

-Vance Joy, Fire and the Flood

Harry stood awkwardly, every muscle in his back protesting as he stubbornly stayed standing to say a weary goodbye to the DA as they filed past.

He uttered a few words of encouragement here and there as he always did at the end of a session. “Collin, remember to keep your left side covered, Luna wouldn’t have landed that tickling hex if you hadn’t turned in too far,” he said as the Creevey brothers limped past, both nodding cheerfully in acknowledgment.

Hermione sidled up to him, a smug look on her face. It had been her that had hit Snape with the body binding curse. That alone wouldn’t have been too bad if Seamus and Dean hadn’t managed to clip Harry with a disarming spell and a jelly legs jinx at the same time. He had gone down when Snape’s falling weight had yanked him to the side, wrenching his back as he tried unsuccessfully to catch them both.

Several counter curses and one undignified scramble later, he had called a halt. They had made a decent showing of it for the first time working together, but both he and Snape were worn out and sore. He was reasonably sure that Snape would have a truly impressive bruise on his thigh from Harry landing knee first on him.

They had taken both Ginny and Neville out in the first round. Ginny spent the rest of the practice sitting completely still after Snape had hit her rather viciously with some kind of disorientation hex, and she’d fallen over every time she moved her head. Hermione consistently managed to get under their shields, and the rest of the group was so used to working together that they took ruthless advantage.

Harry had spent the remainder of the evening walking around the room, correcting stances, and walking students through examples when they were having trouble. Surprisingly Snape had remained silent, merely following along behind him and observing. It took almost a full round of the room before everyone accepted that Snape wasn’t going to ridicule them, and they started to relax.

As the last of the group wrapped up and started to leave, waving goodnight to both him and surprisingly, to Snape, Ron and Lavender joined them in the hall. Harry felt Hermione stiffen next to him, so he flung a quick arm around her shoulders and pulled her snug to his side. She relaxed, giving him a grateful look as she slid her arm around his waist.

“Well, that went better than I thought it would, mate,” Ron said, rubbing the back of his neck as he eyed Snape. “You two do pretty well together,” he finished lamely.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Indeed, Mr. Weasley,” he drawled. “I’m so glad we could live up to your expectations of us.”

Ron’s face went bright red, and Lavender frowned at Snape, but before anyone could say anything, Harry dug his elbow lightly into Snape’s ribs, a silent admonishment.

“You did quite well with the younger students, Mr. Weasley. I would not have expected that of you,” Snape said grudgingly, stepping slightly out of elbow range.

Ron looked dumbfounded at the backhanded compliment and mumbled a confused “thanks” before grabbing Lavender’s hand and fleeing, calling a quick goodbye to Harry over his shoulder.

Hermione gave an indelicate snort of laughter from under Harry’s arm. He turned to look at her with a smile and unthinkingly asked, “how are you doing with all that?” vaguely motioning in the direction Ron had disappeared.

He regretted asking immediately, but instead of hurt, Hermione got a thoughtful look on her face. “I think I’m doing alright,” she answered slowly “I’m coming to realise that what I thought I felt for him was maybe more my need to take care of him than me wanting an actual relationship,” she said wryly.  
“I think this thing with Lavender has been good for both of us. I don’t think a relationship would have been healthy for either of us in the end” She continued, looking somewhat resigned but not terribly sad. “I would, however, like to have my friend back, I’m just not sure how to go about it at this point.”

Snape’s deep voice spoke from Harry’s other side. “That’s very wise of you, Miss Granger. I rarely see those your age stopping to consider why they are pursuing someone, but I should have expected you of all people to do so,” he said gently, with something that sounded suspiciously like approval.

Hermione looked stunned for a moment before she grinned at Snape. “You know, you’re not so terrible,” she said boldly, leaning around Harry.

Harry tensed, waiting for an explosion, but his worry proved to be unfounded when Snape just smirked. “Not having to attend Death Eater meetings has done wonders for my disposition,” he retaliated.

She just laughed and ducked out from under Harry’s arm, heading off toward the Gryffindor tower. “Make sure you stretch your back, Harry, I saw you pull it,” she admonished as she rounded the corner.

Harry just looked between the spot where his best friend had disappeared and the man at his side. “What just happened?” he asked, baffled.

Snape just gave him a tiny smile and tugged a confused Harry toward the dungeons.

* * *

They had only made it down to the fifth floor when Potter pulled him to a stop, an odd look on his face. He stood awkwardly for a moment, a dull red flush rising in his cheeks before seeming to come to a decision.  
“Alright, I know it’s not something either of us want to deal with, but I don’t know how long it will take for us to work out how to separate more than a few centimeters and I don’t think I can take it much longer,” Potter spit, all in a rush, a strange mixture of embarrassment and determination on his face.

Snape raised an eyebrow at him as he tried to decipher what strange turn Potter’s mind had taken now. “Perhaps I would have more to contribute to the conversation if I had any idea what you were talking about,” Snape said, struggling to keep his tone polite. He was exhausted and knew if he didn’t get bruise paste on his leg soon, he would spend the next day limping, but he didn’t want to start another argument just when they seemed to be getting over the last.

Potter looked surprised for a second before answering, “Oh, did I not… oh. Sorry, I meant to say that it’s been almost two weeks since I’ve had a proper bath and cleaning charms are only getting us so far, so....”

Severus couldn’t stop the surge of longing he felt from showing on his face. One of the worst things about the last couple of weeks had been having to forego his regular baths, but he hadn’t been willing to be the one to suggest it. Even though he knew the situation qualified as extraordinary circumstances and Potter was of age, he still couldn’t find it in himself to suggested bathing together. Now that Potter had broached the subject, he was determined that they figure out a way to manage it. It couldn’t be more uncomfortable than the terrible bathroom conversation the first day.

“I agree. Perhaps we should go back to our rooms then?” Snape asked, unable to keep the hopeful note out of his voice. Potter paused, giving him an odd look before continuing.

“I thought it might not be as, uh, awkward in a bigger bath?” Potter said, motioning toward a door next to a statue of an exceptionally confused looking wizard. Snape realised than that they were outside of the prefect's bathroom. He motioned Potter forward with a quick nod, already fantasizing about swimming pools of bubbles and absurdly hot water.

Potter approached the door and muttered “Salazar,” pushing the door open and pulling Snape through. Potter sighed and answered his unspoken question. “Malfoy got here and set the password before any of the rest of us this year,” he said, sounding put out.

Snape felt a faint smile tugging at his lips as Potter moved to start turning taps on in the enormous tub. Fluffy towels sat around the edge, with so many soap taps that he wasn’t sure where to start. Huge stained-glass windows lined one side of the room, a rather ridiculous looking mermaid sound asleep in the center.

Potter turned on a second tap, letting fluffy, soft purple bubbles into the water. The gentle scent of lavender rose around them with the steam.

Warm reddish tiles covered the floor, laid out in a widening spiral, and radiating warmth. There were dark wooden benches along two of the walls, and the ceiling stretched up almost as tall as the Great Hall. Steam drifted through the room as the bath filled, curling the hair on the back of Potter’s neck and making him uncomfortably warm in his heavy wool teaching robes.

The bath filled quickly, and sooner than he was prepared for, they were faced with trying to solve how to gracefully get into a bathtub with another person while preserving everyone’s modesty. He knew Potter was used to changing in front of people, what with quidditch and dorm living he couldn’t imagine how it would be avoided, but Snape was not. Through careful maneuvering, they had managed with minimal embarrassment getting dressed in the morning and evenings, but that involved only a quick shuffle of pants and trousers, arms extended awkwardly behind them.

Potter cleared his throat “I think I’ve had an idea. Given me a moment to see if it will work.”

Snape raised an eyebrow but motioned Potter onwards. Potter pulled a thread from the bottom of his frayed t-shirt and held it in front of him with his left hand. He motioned to Snape in a now familiar demand to move with him. With a strange twisting movement and a muttered spell that sounded vaguely familiar, a sheet of what appeared to be thickened air appeared, two meters long and three or so high, thoroughly distorting the view through it.

Potter looked at him and grinned before reaching over and twisting the thread around his right wrist, effectively putting a barrier between them, linked to their wrists.

Snape was rather glad that Potter couldn’t see his look of complete disbelief.  
“Where did you learn that?” he asked, astounded.

“Didn’t learn it. I used one of the shield spells you were having us read up on and modified it.” Harry said proudly, his voice echoing oddly.

“You’re telling me you invented this?” Severus was uncomfortably impressed. He’d, of course, seen Potter practicing, but he had thought the boy was only going over shields for class.

“Yep. Now I think I would rather like a bath, don’t you?” Potter said, promptly sending any thoughts of spell creation out of his head.

Without thinking, Snape flicked his wand twice, untying and unlacing both his boots and Potters trainers. He had gotten used to tying or untying both of their shoes, and it was fast becoming a habit. He slipped out of his boots and socks, Potter standing still so as not to knock him off balance.

After almost two weeks, and more than a few incidents, they had finally fallen into a routine and moved quickly through disrobing. Snape carefully folded his robes, stacking his waistcoat and matching charcoal grey trousers on top. He shrugged off his black dress shirt, tapping Potter lightly on the hand to let him know he was going to pull against the bracelet between each layer. Finally, he stripped out of his pants, standing naked but comfortably secure behind their shield screen.

Snape was waiting for Potter to finish and shivering slightly in the chilly air when he felt a gentle tug on his arm. They carefully moved down the shallow stairs and into water hot enough that it caused painful pinpricks to dance over his skin, barrier following along faithfully. Snape made a small noise of happiness as he sunk and relaxed back onto the bench that ran around the tub, up to his neck in hot water, and wondering if Potter would object terribly if he refused to leave.

They floated in contented silence for a while before Potter roused himself enough to find a flannel. Snape opened his eyes as he felt Potter moving and blinked in surprise when an arm was thrust through the barrier, a clean flannel held out to him. He took it gingerly with a mumbled thanks before sinking back down.

After several minutes of rather forceful cleaning and an awkward round of hair washing, they both returned to floating.

Potter was humming tunelessly and splashing lightly, casting shadows over the barrier that Snape watched idly as he found himself more relaxed then he had been since before all of this had started.

“I’m sorry,” Snape heard himself say, abruptly. He hadn’t realised that he had decided to apologize until that very moment, but now that he had started, he felt everything he had wanted to say these past few days trying to escape all at once. It seemed somehow easier since he couldn’t see Potter.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you. You don’t talk too much, and it has been rather nice to always know where my things are.” he rushed, glad to not be looking at Harry. “Though I do think you should go buy new clothes, the ones you have are terrible,” he said, pulling a face. He heard a choked sort of laugh from Potters' direction. He had to finish this because if he didn’t, then he never would, and he had an overwhelming feeling that if he didn’t try to explain himself now, he would lose something he was only beginning to think he might want to have.

“And I’m sorry for telling you that you touch me too much, it’s just….” he trailed off, frustrated at his inability to articulate what had bothered him so much. He had to explain, he just wasn’t entirely sure he understood himself, and he hated it.

“First year was the first time I had had any actual friends,” Potter interrupted quietly, tension in his voice. Snape stilled, but stayed silent, leaning against the edge of the bath.  
“Ron and Hermione are wonderful, but we had a bit of a misunderstanding, near the end of the first term. They were both getting ready to leave, and I was going to spend my first Christmas at school” here Harry paused, swallowing loudly “they came to talk to me before they caught the train and they both sat on either side of me and the next thing I knew I was standing and screaming at them not to touch me.”

Potter stopped for a moment, breathing a little faster “I apologized later, but it took a while for us to figure out what had happened. Ron and Hermione were both upset and didn’t want to come too close in case it bothered me, and I didn’t understand well enough to explain it to them.” Snape listened, so still he was barely breathing as if moving might remind Potter that he wasn’t alone.

“In the end, Hermione helped me understand. You see, growing up, no one touched me, at least not in a way that would have taught me that someone being close was not a bad thing, not dangerous” Potter said the last quietly, as if whispering it would make it less real.

Something that felt entirely too close to rage started twisting around in Severus’ chest, and he ruthlessly tamped it down. Now was not the time, and here, in what was possibly the oddest bath he’d ever taken, was not the place. Later, later when Harry was safely asleep, he would let it out. He would close his eyes and imagine all the terrible things he had had to do in the service of the Dark Lord visited on Harry’s relatives instead of on innocents. He would plan a visit to them soon, he decided, or he could even call in a few favors from the kind of people you would never willingly admit to knowing, he considered rather wildly.

Potter started again, a slight tremor in his voice, “It took me a long time to get used to people touching me, and even though I really don’t mind it most of the time, there are only a few people where it almost never bothers me anymore. And sometimes, I still have days where I can’t stand it, and I feel like throwing up when anyone gets too close. I don’t know if it will ever go away completely.”

Snape sat in silence, trying to get a hold of his emotions. He knew that feeling knew without a doubt that Harry understood and wouldn’t be upset with him on the days when he couldn’t tolerate anyone near him. Even Albus couldn’t understand, though he respected Severus’ requests to be left alone. He felt a strange mix of relief at finally being able to define what had bothered him for so many years and a great deal of anger that Potter could have gone through anything that would make him understand Severus so well.

He felt his perception of the boy shifting, his conviction that the things he had seen in the occlumency lessons where exaggerated or false falling away. Potter hadn’t been spoiled. He hadn’t been pampered or told he was the savior of the wizarding world. He hadn’t even been treated like a normal child. Instead, whatever had happened to him had taught him to fear touch, to fear other people coming too close.

The feeling of water shifting as Potter moved to stand brought Severus back as he realised that he had been silent for too long, lost in his thoughts.

In desperation to make sure that Harry knew Severus was paying attention, he reached out and twisted his hand around, briefly capturing and squeezing Potter's fingers before releasing them. “I’m sorry. I just” Severus paused, trying to gather his thoughts into anything that might make sense. “I did not expect you to know. I suppose Miss Granger was correct, though it might have helped had she been slightly less cryptic,” he said with a slight frown, the confusing advice making sense only in retrospect.

Harry startled him with a small chuckle, his hand relaxing, knuckles brushing over Severus’.

“‘Mione sometimes forgets that the rest of us don’t have a brain that makes the same weird leaps of logic hers does.”

“Indeed. I am … glad … that you understand, though I would like to know what happened,” Snape said, eyes narrowed, wondering if he could get further details on the muggles Harry had grown up with. He remembered ‘Tuny, remembered how jealous she had been of Lily, how much she hated how special magic made them. But they were children, and he hadn’t imagined that it was a prejudice that she had kept, especially after her sister had died.

Harry stiffened slightly, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t really feel up for talking about that,” he answered, not outright rejecting the possibility that he would someday trust Severus with those particular memories, but having come to the end of his emotional energy for the day.

“Of course,” he said. “Thank you for telling me, Harry,” he murmured after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

They floated in a softly intimate silence for a while longer, until even Snape had to admit he was feeling a bit waterlogged. He sat up fully, sighing a bit at having to leave his watery haven, and called for Tippy.  
She arrived with a crack, looking expectantly at them. She didn’t seem at all surprised to find them in the bath, and Snape found himself wondering, not for the first time if she spied on him.

“ ‘Lo Tippy, “ Harry said sleepily, the sound of sloshing water the only indication that he was still mostly awake.

“Hello, Master Harry,” she responded, obviously pleased at being greeted. “What can Tippy be doing for you?”

“Could you please bring us clean clothing? We decided on a bath rather last minute,” he said.

Tippy nodded and snapped away, reappearing less than a minute later, soft sleep clothing in her small arms.

Severus’ opened his mouth to protest but closed it at her look. Most of the students were in their dorms, and the portraits knew better than to gossip about what he was wearing. He huffed but reached out to shake Harry’s arm gently, rousing him.

They slogged through the water to the stairs, carefully keeping the barrier between them and limbs on respective sides.

They dried off and got dressed swiftly, Snape slipping his boots on with his blue silk pyjama bottoms and a long sleeved black top, creating a decidedly strange look. Harry elected to walk the rest of the way to their room in his stocking feet, poking out from under the folds of worn reddish track pants, a size too big, and a t-shirt so worn that the neck dipped down to show defined collar bones and a hint of dark, curling hair.

Harry had dismissed the charm as soon as both of them were dressed, and they headed through the remaining steam to the door.

As they snuck quietly out, they heard the telltale sound of Filch talking to Mrs. Norris, drifting down the corridor. Harry turned to smile at him, a glint of mayhem in his eye. He grabbed Snape’s hand and took off the opposite direction, ducking quickly down a small side hall and darting down the stairs. Snape found himself crouching down and keeping pace with Potter, even though it made the bruise on his thigh ache.

“You do know I’m a Professor and therefore do not have a curfew, right Potter?” Snape said in a low whisper as they paused so Harry could poke his head around the corner and survey their path down the grand staircase.

“Yes, but do you want to have a conversation with Filch or whoever is patrolling tonight about why we’re running around after curfew in our pyjamas?” Potter asked quietly, sounding amused.

Snape considered for only a second before shaking his head and motioning for Harry to lead the way. He knew for a fact that Minerva was on patrol tonight, and he couldn’t imagine how long it would take for him to live down her catching him in silk trousers and dragonhide boots, sneaking about with a slightly damp and shoeless Harry Potter.

They hurried down the stairs and had gotten halfway across the entrance hall when he caught a glimpse of shimmering white from the corner of his eye. Without thinking, he grabbed Potter round the waist with his free arm and swung them into a nook just behind a statue of a heroically posed Godric Gryffindor. They held utterly still as Peeves drifted by, no doubt looking for new and exciting ways to make Filch’s night difficult.

He waited a few minutes after Peeves had turned the corner toward the transfiguration classroom before he moved his attention back to Potter. He was startled to realise he had clutched Harry tight to his chest when cramming them both into the small carved space. Potter has his face buried in Snape’s shoulder and was shaking.

Alarmed Severus pulled back slightly, tucking his head to look at Harry. It took him only a second to see that Potter was laughing so hard he seemed to be having trouble breathing.

“You do know that…” Potter gasped, trying to get a hold of himself “that Peeves is completely terrified of you, right?” he finally managed, only to dip his head again, his free hand coming up to muffle his laughter.

“Do you want me having it out with Peeves in the middle of the entrance hall like this?” Severus said with a disbelieving look, making a sweeping gesture over the two of them. This just set Harry off again.

Snape just rolled his eyes and pulled them both out of their hiding place. The rest of the journey was made without incident, though Potter kept breaking out into small bouts of laughter, and Severus couldn’t seem to stop himself from smiling.

* * *

The next few weeks passed quickly, things seemingly settled between the two of them. Harry couldn’t have imagined even a month ago being able to comfortably spend time around his potions professor, which Snape would always be, regardless of what he taught. Not only were they managing to be around each other without resorting to violence or yelling matches, but Harry found that he enjoyed talking with Snape. Once you got past the prickly exterior, he was a wonderful conversationalist and truly, terrifyingly intelligent.

They spoke about classes, clothes, specifically how Harry had terrible ones and should buy new and how Snape seemed to be almost fanatically fond of buttons, and anything else that caught their fancy. They didn’t talk about the war, or Voldemort, or any of the awful things they still had to do.

They learned about each other, things you only know when you spend more time with a person than without them. Harry learned that Snape liked coffee in the morning, and preferred tea the rest of the time. He only put sugar in either if he had had trouble sleeping, but always took both with milk. He could never find his quill, and he loved his sweeping robes, admitting one night after several fire whiskeys that they were the first thing that had made him feel like a real wizard.

He got easily angered if he thought he was being mocked, and he put small bags of lavender and rosemary everywhere in his rooms. He took up a considerably more substantial amount of the bed than he should physically have been able to and managed to wake himself up several times each night by lightly smothering himself in the bolster.

He had a dry, morbid sense of humor that was easy to misunderstand, and refused to admit that he found anything Harry did amusing, even when he was chuckling about it.

In short, after so many years of hating the man, Harry finally actually met him. And he didn’t hate him. He couldn’t. He found him strange and predictable, frustrating and hilarious, and oddly endearing in an entirely unexpected way.

* * *

They spent the weeks leading up to the holiday break trying to extend their separation range, which they had very little luck with, managing only a few inches before snapping back together. With final term projects and papers coming due, Potter was too busy studying, and Snape was too busy trying to keep up with grading and adapting last minute lesson plans. They hadn’t even managed to practice dueling.  
After seeing the way Harry taught when he was with the DA, Snape had finally recruited him to help with the younger years. If Potter wasn’t busy trying to study or finish homework, he would join Snape in walking around during the practical lessons, carefully correcting the children. He quickly became a favorite, his presence soothing to all of the students who found Snape too intimidating to talk to.

Potter never corrected him in front of the students, but occasionally he would mention something he had observed or been told that Snape had missed. Severus was loath to admit it, but he found Potter’s help almost invaluable, and he dreaded having to go back to teaching without a second set of eyes. Potter even helped with his fellow sixth years, many of them a part of the DA and considerably more capable than even his seventh years. Not that he would tell them that.

The closer the end of term got, the more frantic and sleep-deprived Potter got. He was used to studying in groups, and now that he spent his evenings in Snape’s quarters instead of the common room, he had to work that much harder. He didn’t complain, but he was getting more and more frustrated, and the small paper birds to Granger were becoming so frequent that Snape had taken to unlocking his floo and just leaving the connection to the Gryffindor tower open.

One night, a week shy of the end of term, Potter had settled in to study after dinner, curled up in the center of the sofa with Snape settled by him, grading the unending flow of essays.

Potter broke his thoughts with a frustrated noise and moved to send yet another bird to Granger, dropping his open book in the process. Instead of picking it up, he threw his pen down and started cursing, finding impressively creative things to call the Board of Governors and the authors of most of his textbooks.

“While I appreciate the sentiment, and mostly agree with you, perhaps there is a better solution?” Snape said, eyebrows creeping toward his hairline.

“Like what?” Potter snapped, hair more wild than usual from his habit of running fingers through it, looking like he was considering the merits of book burning.

Snape huffed at Potter’s tone but set aside his second years essays, getting up and pulling Harry with him. “Come on, you need to study, and we’ve hidden in here for long enough,” he said briskly, packing up both their bags with a quick flick of his wand.

“Will everyone be in the common room then?” he said, trying for unconcerned and likely missing by a bit if the look Harry was giving him was any indication.  
“You don’t need to do this. I just got frustrated, I’ll keep sending questions to Hermione, it’s not a problem” Harry answered, smiling tightly at him.

“No. No, we’re going. It’s not been easy for you to revise this way, and I would prefer if the other teachers didn’t accuse me of deliberately ruining your grades.” Snape responded wryly.

Harry frowned slightly, “It’s been fine. I mean, I miss working with Hermione and Ron, of course, and Neville hasn’t spoken to me much since all this, but I expected that. Otherwise, it’s been nice to be somewhere quiet at night.” he said with a small smile. “You’re really not terrible company either you know.”

Severus felt himself flush slightly and turned away, busying himself with packing quills in his bag and a few extra muggle pens he had owl ordered when he noticed Harry had run through most of his.

“Come on, we’re going, and you’re going to revise. And I will not needlessly terrorize your housemates,” Snape promised as he pulled his robes on over the black waistcoat and dark grey shirt that Harry had deemed his ‘Almost a funeral’ outfit. He would never have criticized Potter’s clothes if he had known how much return judgment he would get.

“Who exactly gets to determine whether it was needless or not?” Potter asked, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Severus rather pointedly didn’t answer, instead pulling Harry through the door of their rooms and out toward the Gryffindor tower.

* * *

Harry paused in front of the Fat Lady and turned to Snape in a last attempt to convince him how awful an idea this was. Snape gave him a flat look before he could speak and turned to the portrait, “fizzing whizbees,” he said firmly. The Fat Lady’s eyebrows rose as she swung open in response to the master password for all common rooms.

Harry gave him a mildly resentful look before pulling him through the hole in the wall. People nearest turned to see who had come in, and he saw brief looks of welcome cascade into horror as Snape stepped through behind him. He paused awkwardly as talking stopped, and silence spread around them. Harry was getting ready to turn on his heel and forcibly push Snape back through the wall when his name was called. Hermione hurried up, shoving people out of the way and looking harassed.

“It’s about time Harry, I mean honestly, I was about to just throw my notebook through,” she chided as she grabbed his free arm and pulled him and Snape along behind her like reluctant children.

Harry glanced over his shoulder to find Snape wearing a stoic expression, black eyes filled with mild disquiet. He snorted at the man. He had gotten them into it, and they were well and truly stuck now. At least he would have company in the oncoming Hermione induced revision marathon.

She let go of Harry as they arrived at her normal area, just to the side of the fire, one that not even the seventh years studying for NEWTs would try to take from her. She’d defended it successfully as a first year, and everyone was too scared to see what would happen if they tried to infringe on her territory now.

Ron was propped against a pile of bright red cushions he had taken from the surrounding couches, his long legs covered in rumpled and unorganized papers. Neville was sitting against the wall, a somewhat manic look on his face, surrounded by an army of tiny plants in thimble-sized pots.

Ginny was, if possible, looking worse than Neville, sprawled out on the sofa to the side of Ron and mumbling frantically to herself as she flipped through rolls of parchment.

Ron looked up and grunted in greeting, not even bothering to look worriedly at Snape anymore. Neville was too focused on carefully rearranging his plants into incomprehensible patterns to notice anyone had arrived.

Ginny looked at Harry and smiled briefly before she focused on Snape and got an odd look on her face before turning back to her papers.

Hermione pointed at the pile of cushions across the low table from her and started systematically stacking notes in front of him. Harry smiled slightly and dropped gracelessly into his usual spot, dragging his Professor down with him.

Snape grumbled but pulled his grading out of his bag to pile it next to Hermione’s careful notes. He dug around for a moment before dragging several of Harry’s favorite pens out of his bag and dropping them unceremoniously onto the table. He didn’t notice the startled look Harry gave him or the surprise that crossed Hermione’s face. Severus came up again a minute later, red self-inking quill held elatedly.

“Managed not to stab yourself, have you?” Harry teased very quietly, a smile quirking the edge of his mouth.  
“Quiet you,” Severus hissed, earning himself a small chuckle.

They settled in and began working on their respective piles of parchment, hours melting away as Harry finally felt like he might pass at least a few of his classes. They were eventually interrupted by Seamus arriving, carrying a tray so full of food that it was a wonder he had made it up from the kitchens. He was greeted with cheering and divested of his supplies immediately.

Dean and Seamus wandered over, bringing a pile of pasties and mince pies, the former pointedly sitting away from Ginny. Hermione rolled her eyes but grabbed a pastie and sunk back down into her book fort.

Snape took absent minded bites of the mince pie that Harry set at his elbow while frowning at the overly long essay he was reading. He turned to Harry and asked, “How did he get hinkypunks and red caps mixed up again?” an exasperated look on his face.

“Barlowe?” Harry asked, suspecting the third year Hufflepuff boy who couldn’t seem to keep anything straight.

Snape nodded, returning to the already heavily marked essay with a grimace. Harry glanced up and noticed Ron staring at him with a confused look on his face. Harry quirked an eyebrow in question, and Ron just shook his head, motioning vaguely between him and Snape. Harry just raised the other eyebrow at him and turned back to his work.

He knew that it must be odd to see them together. His friends hadn’t spent much time around them lately, so they hadn’t had a chance to see how the two of them had been moving steadily away from the way they had treated each other for the last five years. He was sure it was a bit disturbing to see them chatting, casually working together, when they had spent so many years actively hating each other.

Hermione seemed to take it in stride, though she was the one who had always argued for Snape. Considering it now, Harry thought she was being rather good about it when she could be reminding him how very wrong he had been.

They worked late into the night until Snape eventually pulled both of them up and ushered him toward the door after packing their bags. They slipped into their rooms after a sleepy walk down to the dungeons and were brushing their teeth when Harry noticed Snape looking sadly at his shower. It had been a couple of days since they had last managed to get up to the fifth floor, having wordlessly agreed on their bathing chamber.

Harry sighed heavily. “We should be working on separating further.”

“We will. We’re almost to winter break, and we should have sufficient time to work on it without distractions.” Snape replied as they crawled into bed. A cleansing charm ruffled over both of them as they settled down, identical sighs of unhappiness filling the room.

* * *

The next few days were spent in their regular routine, the only change being that every night they went to the Gryffindor tower so Harry could revise with his friends. Snape found it uncomfortable at first, but eventually, people started mostly ignoring him.

Surprisingly, it had been the Weasley boy that had broken most of the tension. Snape had been going over his final lesson plans and deciding on what to assign over break when Weasley had groaned dramatically and thrown his book down. As much as he hated to admit it, he understood the sentiment. He just wanted to chuck his whole pile into the fire and give all the students a free pass during break.

“Anyone for a game of chess?” Weasley said, hopefully. Everyone ignored him, apparently used to his attempts to distract them from their revision.

He spoke before he thought it through thoroughly. “I would not turn down a game Mr. Weasley.”

Harry started and turned to him, wide eyed. He suddenly grinned, green eyes bright with glee. “Go on Ron, I have a feeling that Snape could give you a good run for it.”

Harry leaned closer and whispered, “No one wants to play Ron because no one can beat him. Take him down, and you’ll win the undying loyalty of everyone he’s ever trounced,” he paused. “Also, you should know if you do play him, I will absolutely put money on you to win.”

Snape felt a completely unwarranted amount of warmth in his chest at this declaration and gave Harry a small smile.

“So, a game, Mr. Weasley, or will you be returning to your revision? I fear, as your Professor, I should tell you that your revision doesn’t appear to have aided you in the least,” he said with a vicious grin.

Harry shoved his fist against his mouth to muffle his laughter, and Weasley narrowed his eyes before summoning the chessboard with a bit more force than strictly necessary. It clipped Finnigan on the way past, who turned and yelled abuse in Weasley’s general direction, his accent almost indecipherable in his anger.

Snape elected not to rebuke him and simply started setting the board up. He unthinkingly gave Weasley white, as he always gave the starting advantage to his opponent. He got a ginger eyebrow raised at him for his trouble before they settled down and started playing.

Two hours later, Ron tipped over his white king in surrender, a wildly pleased look on his face.  
“Good game Professor. I’d be up for a rematch soon if you are?” Weasley said happily. They had drawn a small crowd as the end of the game drew nearer, and his victory had been met with a surprising amount of cheering. Harry had indeed bet on him and had come away with a tidy sum, good-natured groans filling the room as he held out his hand to collect with a smug grin.

Severus was entirely certain that as a Professor, he should have forbidden gambling, and absolutely should not have been a central part in it, but he couldn’t help but be pleased with the look of mixed triumph and pride Harry had given him when he’d won. Besides, it wasn’t like there was a teacher that wasn’t aware that Finnigan was a half step from a bookie and had betting pools for everything.

“Of course, Mr. Weasley. You were an unexpectedly challenging opponent, I would not mind a rematch; perhaps after the holidays?” he asked pleasantly. He really did have fun. No one had given him that much of a challenge since the last time he had convinced Flitwick to play years ago. The diminutive professor was kind enough, but he did not lose gracefully and had refused to play him again.

“If you’ve got time, I’ll play you over the holidays when you and Harry come to visit,” Weasley said, not noticing the narrow eyed look he shot Harry at this. Harry looked far less alarmed than Snape thought he should have and just shrugged.

“I hadn’t gotten around to talking to him about the holidays yet Ron,” he said, leaning around Severus to speak with his friend.

“Oh well, if you don’t come, I think Mum might just come to get you both, fair warning,” Weasley said cheerfully as if his mother abducting a former Death Eater and forcing him to attend Christmas dinner was entirely reasonable.

“Don’t fight it. There are other battles you can pick with Mrs. Weasley. This is probably not the one,” Granger said from across the table, looking at him with pointedly raised eyebrows. He was sorely tempted to use legilimency just to understand what the girl was trying unsuccessfully to convey to him.

She rolled her eyes, and a few minutes later, as they were packing up to leave, she slipped a small note into Snape’s stack of parchments when Harry wasn’t looking.

It wasn’t until after they had gone through their evening routine and Harry had just drifted off that he was able to look at it. He took it out of his sleeve, where he had secreted it and pulled the covers over his head before lighting his wand with a silent Lumos.

The note was short and scrawled hastily, less neat than Granger’s usual writing.

_Harry won’t tell you, but he hadn’t had a real Christmas until he came to Hogwarts. Getting to spend Christmas with his family, which the Weasley’s are, is very important to him. Molly knows and will come get him if she thinks she needs to._

Severus read through it twice before folding it carefully and tucking it into his pillowcase. He hadn’t thought much about the holidays as he typically ignored them, except to buy the required presents for his colleagues. He didn’t have great memories of Christmas, and his birthday being shortly after and only celebrated very quietly with perhaps a single piece of candy, had not added to his enjoyment of the season.

It looked like this Christmas season would be a bit different for him. He shuddered slightly as he considered what kind of holiday party the Weasley clan was likely to have.

* * *

The term finished with less fanfare than Harry felt it should have. The last class before break was potions, which Snape, if possible, hated even more and typically spent the whole class grumbling from under his overly strong silencing charm. Slughorn had made the mistake of trying to get Snape to second his opinion to the class one afternoon, and Harry had been vaguely surprised that the portly man hadn’t been evaporated on the spot.

It didn’t help that Harry was performing better in potions, even though he no longer had the Prince’s book. Snape seemed to take personal offense to his decent grades and regularly mumbled suspiciously about cheating. They had settled down in their usual seats in the back, Hermione flustered as she made last second changes to her final essay. Slughorn wandered up in a poor imitation of casual and stopped beside their expended desk. Snape was sitting back, relaxed after finishing his final class, and not needing to start grading for at least a few days.

“Harry! How are you?” Slughorn cried in a voice far too cheerful for the dank atmosphere. Harry saw Snape wince out of the corner of his eye. “Fine sir, just getting ready for class,” he answered, hoping to hurry the man along before Severus turned him into something unfortunate.

“Wonderful, wonderful,” he paused, ignoring Snape’s less than friendly expression. “Well, I’ll let you get on with it, but I’ll see you at the party tomorrow, yes?” he finished, starting to sidle away.

“Party?” Harry asked, confused. A foot landed solidly on his a second too late to prevent him from speaking.

“Are you quite alright, my boy? You’re looking a bit peaky,” Slughorn said, a frown marring his features. Harry nodded quickly, trying to smooth the pained look off of his face. He shot Snape a look that promised retribution and turned back to Slughorn just as he started to speak.

“Yes, the annual Slug Club Christmas party! I’m sure we spoke about it already” Slughorn looked mildly upset at the idea that Harry hadn’t been counting down the days until his party.

Harry had a vague, fuzzy memory of Slughorn mentioning a party and nodding along without paying much attention. “Right, yes, of course, Professor, it must have slipped my mind.”

“Of course, of course, easy to do with everything that’s happened,” the portly man said, eyes cutting to their bound wrists, resting on the table. “Glad to hear you’ll be attending! You know many of my old students will be there as well. You never know who you might meet, just the other day…”

Severus broke in, snarling “For Merlin’s sake Horace, no one cares, just get on with the lesson.” Slughorn looked taken aback before he gathered his dignity and retreated to the front of the class.

“Really, Harry, you don’t remember agreeing to go? He asked us both at the same time,” Hermione leaned over to whisper. Snape gave him a disgusted look before resolutely snapping his silencing charms into place and pointedly opening his newest edition of Potions Monthly.

Harry slumped in defeat, staring morosely at his desk. He honestly had forgotten, and now he was going to have to spend his first Saturday free at some ridiculous party where he was sure to be paraded around as one of the main attractions. At least Snape would have to suffer with him.

* * *

“How do you not own dress robes Potter?” Snape yelled the next morning, his head buried in the wardrobe.

“If Ms. Granger hadn’t mentioned it, you would have been attending in your school robes,” he said darkly, pulling his head out of the racks of clothing, hair rumpled. It gave him the look of a slightly flustered stork, and Harry couldn’t help laughing at the sight. He calmed quickly at the look on Severus’ face and gave a long suffering sigh.

“Snape it’s a party being held at the school that I am a student of, what could be wrong with me wearing school robes?” Harry tried to ask reasonably.

Snape spluttered. “Because it’s a formal event. I won’t have you showing up in ill fitting clothing. As much as it pains me to admit it, Horace will have invited influential people, people who might help you in your career later. It would do to dress the part.”

Harry stood, staring in shock, and said the first thing that came to mind. “Do you honestly think I’m going to live long enough to worry about _career prospects?”_

Snape had been flipping through the wardrobe as if he was expecting to magically find a set of dress robes that would fit Harry. He froze, his shoulders tense. “Don’t. Don’t you dare give up before we’ve even started,” he said in a voice that Harry almost didn’t recognize.

For possibly the first time in his life, Harry could hear the plea underlying the harsh words. “It’s alright, I’m not planning on giving up. I won’t.” Harry stuttered, caught entirely off guard by the conversation.

“Right, let’s head to Hogsmeade. I’m certain they’ll have something that will work at Gladrags.” Snape said, moving on from the awkward moment.

Harry just nodded, no longer protesting, and moved to swing his robes on.

They were halfway down the long road to Hogsmeade before he spoke again. “Why is it that you’ve such opinions about clothes?” Harry asked curiously. It was something that had bothered him because it didn’t fit with his idea of the man. Snape cared about a great many things, but Harry knew he wasn’t at all vain.

“Potter, I’m a spy. Or I was at least for a very long time.” Snape said, a thread of amusement in his voice. A gust of frigid wind blew pieces of his long hair into his eyes and not for the first time Harry wondered why he didn’t just tie it back.

“If you don’t look the part, people will doubt you. Clothing can have just as much of an effect as good acting.”

Harry frowned, considering. “I hadn’t thought of it like that,” then, as a thought occurred to him, “What in Merlin’s name is Dumbledore trying to convince us of then?”

Severus burst into startled laughter, his face lighting up, onyx eyes shining. Harry stumbled slightly at the sight, realizing he hadn’t ever heard Snape truly laugh. He was disturbed to find it was a good look on him.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he got out between chuckles. Snape calmed after a few moments, walking along beside Harry, looking rumpled and happy in his fuzzy scarf, and Harry’s just stared, feeling confused and somewhat unsettled.

They reached Gladrags and spent the next several hours finding Harry a new wardrobe after he assured Snape that he could indeed afford it, he just hadn’t bothered. He’d gotten a mildly horrified look at his admission and had promptly been stuffed into the changing room with a pile of Snape approved outfits. Severus stood outside the curtain, arm stuck through as he tried on what seemed to be a never ending stack of both wizarding and muggle clothes.

Snape finally called a halt when they had a stack of clothes twice as large as he currently owned, and Harry was wearing a mutinous look. They left with their purchases, bundling up against the late December chill. In revenge, Harry had harassed Snape into buying a dark blue dress shirt, saying that since he didn’t need to cultivate his feared dungeon bat persona anymore that he could branch out and wear colors. Snape had given him a decidedly unhappy look but had hesitantly bought the shirt when Harry had held it up and declared that it was a good color on him.

They stopped briefly at The Three Broomsticks, Harry unashamedly buying them both butterbeer, much to Severus’ disgust. They were just finishing and getting ready to head back up to the castle and see if they could make it in time for lunch when Romilda Vane walked up, a small herd of giggling forth years behind her.

“Hi Harry,” she said, looking at him from under thick lashes. “I was wondering, do you have a date to Professor Slughorn’s party yet?” she asked, steadfastly ignoring the menacing man looming over them both.

Harry was caught flatfooted and, for a moment, had no idea how to respond. “Erm, no, I don’t?” he said as if he wasn’t entirely sure. He felt Snape tense beside him “And I don’t intend to take anyone, sorry Romilda,” he hurried to finish.

Romilda pouted at him in a way he was sure she thought looked appealing but just made her look like a child. Harry drew further back from her, unconsciously moving closer to Severus. Snape stepped forward, pulling the girl’s attention to him. “I believe you have your answer, Ms. Vane. I suggest you and your friends move along,” he said with slightly more bite than was warranted.

The girls hurried over to a large table, Romilda giving him a disappointed look as she trailed after her friends.

Severus swept out, pulling Harry with him. They were walking through the gates when Harry pulled them to a halt, finally fed up with having to jog every few steps to keep up with Snape’s long stride.

Snape spun on him, all trace of the relaxed laughing man of earlier having vanished. “What Potter? Did you want to go back and fetch the girl to keep you company tonight?” he spat.

Harry’s eyebrows rose, but he had gotten too used to Snape to be bothered by the tone. “Did that upset you?” Harry asked, surprised. He was fairly used to being approached in public, and frankly, he had been pleasantly surprised to find that once he was attached to Snape, propositions, and declarations of undying love had disappeared.

“Of course not. But you shouldn’t turn down someone just because I’m here. As you said, we will likely be stuck together for a while. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience your love life.” Snape said, looking pointedly away from Harry.

Harry snorted at him, shaking his head. “You really think I want to go chasing after Romilda Vane?” he asked incredulously. “Look, it’s not like she’s the first girl to ask me on a date. Do you see me dating anyone?”

“I don’t know Potter, I don’t keep up with the sordid love life of The Chosen One,” he said nastily.

Harry jerked back slightly and considered Snape with narrowed eyes. He hadn’t gotten that particular tone for well over a month now. Previously he would have snapped back, sure that Snape was just being his usual bastard self. And honestly, he was being his usual bastard self, it was just that Harry now knew that there was a reason, something that had upset him and made him lash out. Besides, Harry had found, to his horror, that he actually liked the complete bastard side of Severus, he just preferred it turned on others while he watched from a safe range.

So instead of making it worse, Harry sidled closer, bumping their shoulders lightly together. “Given that I spend all of my time with you, I think you would be the one to know.” He leaned against the other man, noting that while Snape was still looking away, he had relaxed slightly into Harry.

Severus gave him a searching look before grunting noncommittally and starting back toward the castle.

They arrived in time to have just missed lunch and had to call Tippy to bring them something from the kitchens. As usual, Severus only ate a few bites, and Harry had to bite his cheek to prevent himself from saying anything. He didn’t want another argument, and he remembered how badly it had gone last time he had suggested that Severus should eat more.

They spent the rest of the afternoon lazing around on the sofa reading muggle fiction novels, only speaking when one of them shared a particularly ridiculous part. By the time the fire flared with a firecall, they had both calmed and were cackling over a muggle author's depiction of magic.

Hermione’s head popped through and immediately focused on them. “You two aren’t ready yet? The party starts in twenty minutes!” she said outraged.

She got two guilty looks in return and glared at them both. “I’ll be down in fifteen minutes for you to walk me to the party, be ready” with that, the fire flared, and her head vanished.

They shared a look of reluctance before Snape closed the book they had been reading and extracted himself from the comfort of the fire and worn couch.

They grumbled their way through getting dressed, turned away as usual. Harry was fiddling with the button on the cuff of his dress shirt and turned to Snape for help, ready to admit defeat, only to find the man looking owlishly at him.

“What?” Harry asked, looking down at his outfit, afraid he had somehow already managed to stain it, despite having never worn it. He was dressed in dark charcoal grey slacks with a matching waistcoat, a deep forest green dress shirt, and new heavy black boots. It had been one of the first outfits he had chosen, rather liking the way the shirt made his eyes look.

“Nothing,” Snape choked out. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Nothing, did you need something?”

Harry gave him a confused look but held his wrist out in explanation. Snape quickly closed the button, long, deft fingers shaking slightly, and straightened his black waistcoat with a sharp tug. He had put on the blue shirt Harry had bullied him into buying, and he felt rather smug about it.

His thoughts were derailed by a sharp knock on the door. They picked up their dress robes on the way into the front room, opening the door to greet Hermione. Harry’s eyes widened at her, and he immediately broke into a smile.

“‘Mione, you look beautiful,” he said, looking at her delicate pink dress and her hair falling in loose curls over her shoulders.

She smiled and reached out to tug the edge of his robe straight. “You look very handsome Harry” before she turned to look at Snape and nodded approvingly “So do you, Professor Snape. That color suits you.”

Snape simply raised an eyebrow and motioned them forward, but Harry smiled to himself when he saw the faint flush in his cheeks.

* * *

They arrived just after the party started, filtering in with groups of mostly sixth and seventh years, though more than a few prominent members of the Ministry appeared to be present. Snape curled his lip at them, disbelieving that they would still jump at Slughorn’s summons. Horace had tried to collect him years ago. Even as a child, he had shown a particular affinity for potions, quickly outstripping his Professor. He had joined briefly simply because Lily had been in the ‘Slug Club’ but had found it distasteful.

Severus frowned and leaned down to speak with Harry during a lull in the greetings that Snape was steadfastly ignoring. “Potter, why exactly are we here?”

Harry gave him a quizzical look before answering, “Because I accidentally agreed to it? You were there, you stomped on me. I remember it clearly.”

“I put bruise past on it, stop complaining. No, I mean, why are you a part of the club?” Snape asked, “I know you must be Horace’s Holy Grail, but why are you going along with it?”

He knew now that Harry truly hated attention and avoided it if he could, which explained wonderfully why he had always reacted in such a satisfactory way to Severus’ taunts but did not explain at all why they were suffering through this.

“Because Dumbledore asked me to,” Harry answered in surprise, “I had thought he would have told you?”

Snape’s lips thinned as he shook his head. He didn’t know if it was a recent development or if Albus had been hiding things from him for years, but he did not like it.

Harry was glaring at the floor, obviously upset. Severus brushed his fingers lightly over Harry’s, drawing his gaze up. Harry got a stubborn look on his face and tugged Severus over behind a curtain and onto a thin balcony.

“I went with Dumbledore to get Slughorn. I think the Headmaster knew that he wouldn’t come unless he thought he could collect me,” Harry said in a low voice. “Dumbledore told me that Slughorn had been one of Riddle’s favorite teachers and that he thinks that Slughorn knows something important about Voldemort. He wants me to try and convince him to tell me.”

Snape blinked at Harry in astonishment. “Does he do this often? Assign you tasks?”

Harry shrugged and looked away, telling him clearly that perhaps some of Harry’s more notable escapades had, if not been facilitated by, at least approved by the Headmaster.

Severus pushed down the anger that was trying to take over his attention and instead focused on Harry. “And have you made any progress?”

Harry shook his head in frustration, looking out into the brightly decorated room and watched Longbottom of all people walk by with a tray of sparkling drinks.

“We will talk about this later and see what might be done,” Severus said, pulling Harry back into the room.

Harry nodded at him and sent him a distracted smile as he was almost immediately engulfed by the Head of Magical Artifacts ridiculously dressed wife. Severus was standing to the side, contemplating his new in depth understanding of what an anchor must feel like when he saw Zabini pouring something into the punch bowl. His lip curled into a gleeful sneer, and he tugged urgently on Potter.

Harry muttered a quick goodbye as he was pulled across the room, stumbling slightly. He turned to glance at Severus and snorted with laughter as he looked between the quickly paling Slytherin and his head of house.

“Mr. Zabini,” he paused, reveling in the apparent discomfort it caused. “I believe we both know why I’m here,” he said in a dangerously silky tone. Zabini’s dark skin went an unappealing shade of ash before he swallowed and nodded shakily. Severus savored the fact that he could still reduce most of his students to stuttering fear, with a few notable exceptions.

He glanced over, fully expecting Harry to be wearing a smug look, but instead found him staring Zabini down disapprovingly. For some reason, this made Zabini shrink further into himself, and he looked away. “I’m sorry, Professor. It wasn’t much, I swear,” the boy said.

“Detention, Mr. Zabini. Two weeks with Mr. Filch and 20 points from Slytherin for your ill conceived spiking of the community punch bowl.”

Harry flicked his wand, banishing the punch, a frown still on his face.  
“That was stupid, there are children here,” he said, anger threading through his voice.

Zabini nodded miserably and slunk out, passing Slughorn, who was headed to intercept Harry and only shot a cursory glance at the guilty looking Slytherin.

“Harry, my boy, I’ve been wanting to introduce you to Mr. Worple, a previous student of mine and a very successful author.” At this, Slughorn pulled a small man forward from behind himself, making him appear like some kind of muggle magician and practically thrusting him at Harry.

“Harry Potter! I’m delighted to finally meet you!” Severus immediately tuned out the man’s enthusiastic conversation, turning instead to survey the room. Several of his current and previous students were carefully avoiding his side of the room, and Longbottom appeared to have dropped his second tray of hor dourves. Snape smirked as he watched him sliding several pieces of what appeared to be Dragon Tartar under the line of curtains he and Harry had been hiding behind. Fairies were twinkling obnoxiously on the ceiling, and there were entirely too many bundles of mistletoe hanging about for unsuspecting passerby.

Granger was on the other side, looking distinctly uncomfortable as McLaggen crowded closer and closer to her. He narrowed his eyes dangerously at the boy, but the idiot didn’t have the good grace to notice. Granger, however, did glance up and turned on her heel, darting across the room to him, stuttering some excuse to the boy.  
“Professor! I had a quick defense question for you,” she rambled, much too loudly. Snape winced but reached out to grasp her arm and pull her to stand on his left, effectively flanking her with himself and Harry.

She smiled brilliantly at him, and he found himself somewhat unsettled. None of his students smiled happily at him, and certainly not Gryffindors. He briefly mourned the days when Granger stared at him with loathing.

“Are you quite alright, Ms. Granger?” he asked, concerned by her reaction. It seemed disproportionate to the effort he had put into assisting her and made him suspicious. He already disliked McLaggen and would take a great deal of pleasure in finding something that he could punish him for without Harry grumbling about house favoritism.

“Fine, just McLaggen has been rather insistent in getting my attention this year,” she answered, voice strained.

“I see. Perhaps Mr. McLaggen needs something to distract him if he has so much free time,” he said, glaring across the room at the tall young man.

Granger squeezed his arm gently, a small smile on her face. Harry chose that moment to drag himself away from what sounded like the pitch of a book deal and absently tucked Granger closer to his side as if he could feel her discomfort, and his subconscious wanted to ease it.

Snape felt the tiniest well of what simply could not be envy because if it was envy, it was of the Gryffindor know it all and the care that Harry Bloody Potter took of her. Severus let the squeaky voice of the small man still chattering at Harry wash over him as he considered precisely where his life had gone so wrong. He wasn’t even entirely certain it was Death Eater related at this point. He had a sneaking suspicion it might just be Potter related.

Severus sighed and resolutely pushed the thought away. Tonight could not finish quickly enough.

* * *

Hermione felt her eyes glazing as she listened to the drone of the small man trying hard to convince Harry that he should allow him to write an autobiography, of all things. She had to stifle the urge to tell the man that it was a lost cause. Though she was sure Snape would appreciate it, Harry would give her that disapproving look that said she was being rude.

She sighed and sank further into her best friend's side. He had shifted slightly to bring her in closer after Professor Snape had pointedly placed her between them, all while glaring daggers at McLaggen. She had never had the animosity toward Snape that either of the boys had, and had correctly assumed his behavior had more to do with his work as a spy than personal feeling. Though that information hadn’t come about for years she had chosen to believe Dumbledore when he told Harry that Snape was to be trusted.

A small, petty part of her had wanted to remind Harry that she had been right, but she had suppressed it. Initially, she hadn’t wanted to make anything harder for Harry with his forced proximity to Snape. Now she didn’t want to mention it because she was afraid it might disturb the odd friendship they seem to have found. Even Hermione couldn’t have guessed that would form, and certainly not as quickly as it did.

Hermione came back from her musings and looked around to see if McLaggen had cleared off. She knew that if Snape had given her the look he had been leveling at McLaggen, she would have.

Hermione couldn’t find him, so she took the opportunity to head to the loo. Harry gave her a questioning look as she moved away, and Snape started to move with her as if he planned on being a looming shadow all night, but she stayed him with a quick smile and a wave of her hand. He looked bored, but there was a glint of concern in his eyes as he settled back next to Harry.

She smiled to herself as she ducked out of the room, dodging what appeared to be a vampire, who was looking far too familiarly at two 5th years. She unobtrusively flicked her wand, silver from the candle holders swirling down to twist around both of their necks in delicate filigree chokers. Both girls squealed excitedly and looked around, trying to find their benefactor. The vampire looked disgusted and glided off closer to Harry and Snape.

She made it down the long dark hallway, lit with only a few flickering candles, and around the corner to the girl's loo.

Hermione was coming out of the loo, still a way down the corridor from the party, when a hand clamped around her mouth and dragged her toward a shadowy doorway.

She didn’t even try to scream, instead of planting her feet and shoving as hard as she could towards the tall body behind her. McLaggen was going to pay for this. She’d been polite, she’d told him no in every way she could think of, including flat out saying that she wasn’t interested and he should go find someone else to bother. She’d give him to Snape and Harry after she was done with him, she thought with grim satisfaction.

The man behind her staggered, not expecting her to throw their joint balance off in that direction. She took the opportunity to slam the wedge of her heel into his instep and sling her elbow back as hard as she could.

He released her with a hard ooof of breathe, falling into the wall.  
“Merlin’s beard Granger, what is wrong with you?” A voice that was not the coarse grate of McLaggen’s wheezed.

Hermione spun and found Draco Malfoy crouched against the wall, arms wrapped tight around his middle.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Malfoy?!” she shrieked, her voice echoing on the stones and making the stupidly well dressed idiot kneeling at her feet wince.

“Who just attacks people in corridors? You weren’t even good at it! What kind of Death Eater are you?” Hermione realised she was getting hysterical, but she had been startled badly, and the last person she had expected to grab her in a shadowy corner was Malfoy. He was a git, but weirdly, enough he had standards. She expected a higher level of villainy from him these days.

“Merlin Granger, shut up. I needed to talk to you.” he groused, still doubled up against the wall.

“And instead of approaching me _where I could see you,_ you just decided to attempt to abduct me was the solution?” she said, voice sharp.

He finally managed to straighten, pulling himself up the wall, and Hermione had a moment to realise exactly how _tall_ he had gotten. She wasn’t near him often enough to pay attention, but he must have been almost as tall as Professor Snape. She wasn’t sure how she had mistaken him for McLaggen and was frankly surprised she had landed her elbow anywhere useful when it was just as likely for her to have hit his hip bone. He must have been bent over, she thought absently, recognizing that her brain was scattering off track.

“So what’s so important that you felt the need to assault me in the hallway?” she asked waspishly.

He glared at her for a minute, rubbing his stomach absently before answering. “I have information for you.” He looked suddenly nervous before stepping back and motioning her toward the door he had been trying to drag her through initially.

“This is the moment in horror movies that I tell myself I would run” Hermione muttered to herself “I’m not an idiot, I really shouldn’t follow that bad guy into the dark room.”

She just shook her head and followed him, at least confident that she could hold Malfoy off long enough to get her Patronus to Harry and Snape if needed. Besides, she reassured herself, they had already established that Malfoy was terrible at this.

Candles flickered to life as Malfoy closed the door behind him. The small room lit up, showing a space that she could not have begun to guess had been here once. There were no markers, just empty space and blank walls. She turned to ask again what she was doing, wasting her time with him but froze when she saw his face. He was thinner than she had seen him and had almost black circles under his eyes. He had not looked good this year, but he seemed much worse than even a few days ago.

His face was pulled into a pinched expression, anxiety practically flowing out of him.

“Malfoy, what did you do?” she asked, her mind jumping to what could be horrifying enough for him to come to her.

He glared at her, “I didn’t do anything Granger,” he snapped. “That’s the problem actually,” he continued, voice much quieter.

She gave him a skeptical look but motioned for him to continue.  
He sighed and closed his eyes tight. “I need your help,” he got out through clenched teeth.

Hermione had a brief moment when pure spite rose in her before she tamped it down, and forcibly stopped herself from walking out the door laughing.

“And what would little Lord Malfoy need with a filthy Mudblood like me?” she responded, biting the words off viciously. She might stay, but she sure as hell didn’t have to be nice about it.

To her surprise, Malfoy winced, ducking his head and looking away. It surprised Hermione so much that it derailed any further taunting.

“I don’t..” he started, hands coming up to run through his icy blond hair, ruffling it out of its perfect style.

“I can’t do this anymore. I need out,” he said, looking up at her through a curtain of his hair, his voice suddenly firm. “I need out, and I need the Order to help me.”

Hermione stood, completely frozen as her brain tried to process the words she was hearing and make them fit into some reality that made sense.

“You want out… out of Voldemort’s service?” she said with uncertainty.

He flinched at her use of the name but nodded rapidly. “I need to get my mother out. He’s going to kill her.” His voice began edging toward panic, and Hermione had a brief and insane urge to pat him and tell him it would be fine and to please stop turning her world upside down.

“Alright,” she said slowly, feeling her way carefully. “Why are you asking me, though? Why not Snape?”

He gave her a much more Malfoy-ish look of condensation. “And how exactly do you think the Dark Lord will react to me talking to a traitor?”

She felt her face fall into grim lines, and she nodded in understanding. Of course, he couldn’t be seen approaching Snape, or any other member of the Order. But her, no one would ever suspect a Malfoy of willingly conspiring with a muggleborn.

“What do you need?” she asked, her brain turning to organizational mode.

“That’s it? I don’t have to prove that I’m being honest? That I’m not just telling you a sad story to infiltrate your ranks?” he said, looking almost angry.

She blinked in surprise, “No, Malfoy, you don’t. You don’t have to prove anything to me. You’ll have to prove yourself to Harry and Snape and the rest of the Order.”

He went white at this “I assume there’s no way to keep Potter out of it?”

She raised an incredulous eyebrow, “I can’t imagine that even you managed to miss the whole, they come as a matched pair fiasco.”

“Of course not. I just assumed that they were using silencing charms to get around having to talk to each other or to have private meetings,” he said, looking down at the toes of his shoes, the perfect shine broken by a scuff in the shape of Hermione’s heel.

Hermione felt her lips pulling into a smile. “No, they don’t use charms to keep separate from each other.”

Malfoy gave her an odd look but continued, “Could you ask them then? If they would be willing to at least talk to me?”

She knew how much it must have cost the man in front of her to swallow his pride and utter those words, particularly to her.

Hermione gave him a considering look before saying decisively, “If you’re telling the truth, Malfoy, and you want to get out, we’ll help you.” Even if the Order chose not to help him, if he was being honest, she knew that Harry would do everything he could to get him out.

“And Mother. I’m doing this for Mother,” he added quickly.

She nodded warily. “I’ll tell them, then I’ll find you,” she said as she turned to leave when he spoke again, his voice laced with desperation in a way she had never imagined it could be. “I have information. I can give you information about his plans, just please get her out. Please”

The last was whispered, and Hermione grimaced as it unwillingly tugged at her heart. “Malfoy, if either of you wants out, we will do our best to get you out. It won’t be contingent on the value of any information that you can give us. We don’t weigh peoples worth like that.” She heard a thread of accusation enter her voice at the last, but didn’t bother to correct it.

His face was tight again, and he nodded sharply to her as she slipped out the door.

* * *

Hermione moved thoughtfully down the corridor as she considered Malfoy. She was less shocked than she felt she should have been. He had just looked so horrible this year like he hadn’t slept at all, and other than the incident on the train, he hadn’t even really been bothering Harry. Maybe since Snape’s true allegiances had been revealed, he was reconsidering his options?

Hermione wasn’t sure what to make of it, but she had told him the truth. At the very least, she would tell Harry and Snape, and there was no way either of them would ignore it.

Distracted by the accumulating amount of Slytherins turning from Voldemort, she was barely paying attention and was just about to turn back into the party when a hand darted out and grabbed her arm.

“There you are you, little minx,” McLaggen said, trying to pull her toward him. He didn’t have the fear fueled strength of Malfoy, though, and she easily yanked her arm away. Before she could consider the possible ramifications, her wand snaked out, and a stunning spell hit him dead center in the chest.

He dropped with an extremely satisfying thud, limbs falling loosely and his shoulder smacking into the wall and scraping down the stone, leaving threads of overpriced robe in his wake. Her somewhat guilty happiness was broken by a throat clearing pointedly behind her.

She turned, already knowing who would be there. She had heard that exact noise too many times to mistake it, though typically it was aimed at Harry and not her.

Snape stood staring at her, looking dignified in his dress robes, Harry standing beside him and trying to hide his amusement. Hermione’s eyes darted between them, huge and guilty.

“Ten points to Gryffindor for a perfectly executed stunning spell Ms. Granger” Snape finally said, with great aplomb.

She blinked at him a few times and lost her battle with a confused smile when Harry broke and threw his head back, laughing uproariously.

Snape held himself together admirably, only a small smile flickering over his face when he gazed down at Harry.

She flicked her wand and scooted the now unconscious Gryffindor behind a conveniently located decorative wall hanging. He would wake in twenty minutes or so, only slightly worse for the wear and hopefully having learned not to touch people without permission.

She turned back to the two men who were watching her with varying levels of amusement and briskly continued as if she hadn’t just been found assaulting her housemates in the corridor.

“How soon are you leaving? There’s something I need to talk to both of you about as soon as possible.” Her tone set Harry’s face into a concerned frown.

He glanced at Snape and said, “We can leave now, ‘Mione. Back to your rooms?” the last was addressed to their professor, who nodded quickly and swept off down the hall.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who has commented, I greatly appreciate your feedback. Just a few notes, I will be trying to update this weekly, and if it isn't evident yet this will be a long fic. Please note this does not have a beta, so all mistakes are mine alone. Please also keep an eye on the tags, I will be adding to them as needed.

_Those bright crooked stars, man they’re howlin out_   
_Thought you read them all right, had them all figured out_   
_Learned every constellation, just to find where you’re at_

-Gregory Isakov, Wings All in Black

  
They made it back to Snape’s rooms without encountering anyone, Harry, for once dragging Snape along instead of the other way round. He hated that particular tone in Hermione’s voice; it never preceded anything good.

They shuffled in quickly after the wall had shifted away at Snape’s touch. Harry peeled his dress robes off and tossed them onto the back of the nearest chair. It said something about Snape’s distraction that he didn’t complain, instead calling for Tippy and ordering tea.

Hermione settled onto the far chair, sinking into the soft cushions with a slightly alarmed look as they sat in their usual spots on the couch just as tea arrived with a faint clatter.

“What has happened, Miss Granger?” Snape asked, impatiently.

“Malfoy pulled me aside tonight when I left the party,” Hermione said without preamble.

Snape’s head jerked up in surprise. “Is he alright? What’s happened?” concern colored his words, his fingers going to carefully straighten the edge of his robes to lie perfectly along the fold of his trousers, the only indicator of his anxiety.

Harry gently brushed his knuckles along Snape’s, watching as he took a deep breath and let go of his robes at the touch.

He knew just as well as they did that Malfoy wouldn’t willingly speak to Hermione unless the situation was dire.

“He didn’t give me many details, but he seems convinced that You-Know-Who is going to kill his mother, and he wants the Order to get them both out,” Hermione grimaced as she relayed a shortened version of her conversation.

Harry frowned deeply and opened his mouth to argue that trusting Malfoy was about as smart as hugging a blast ended skrewt, but saw the look of naked hope on Snape's face and closed his teeth with a snap. Instead, he began preparing tea for everyone. He put a small spoonful of sugar in Severus’. He looked like he’d need it.

Harry passed tea around, receiving a raised brow and a small quirk of the mouth from Snape for his presumption, but no complaints.

“Did he say anything specific? Like when he could expect something to happen?” Snape asked, frustration leaking into his voice, shifting uncomfortably in his dress robes.

“No, he just offered information in exchange for their safety. For her safety.” Hermione looked uncomfortable. Whatever she had seen had obviously convinced her that he was worth listening to, and Harry had long ago learned that if Hermione believed it to be true, he should pay attention. His days of being convinced of his rightness above anyone else were over. His best friend had proved her instincts to be considerably more reliable than his.

“He asked to meet with you. With both of you,” she said, looking down into her milky tea in thought.

Silence reigned over the small sitting room for several minutes as they all contemplated what it could mean that the Malfoy’s where fleeing. Firelight flickered over the troubled look on Hermione’s face as she brushed her hair back, the loose curls having reverted to their regular bushier version from her running her fingers through it.

“We’ll need to tell Dumbledore and set a meeting time. We have to make sure it’s safe. No one in the castle that isn’t part of the Order can know we’re meeting with him.” Snape said.

Harry nodded absently, considering where they could meet safely. He had his cloak and the map, so that would help them against anyone following or spying, but it’s not like they could meet in the room of requirement, it was the worst kept secret in the castle.

“The bathroom,” Harry suddenly declared, startling Snape enough that he sloshed his tea onto his hand and the worn blue fabric of the sofa. Harry shot him an apologetic look and hurried to explain.

“The prefect's bathroom. We all have a valid reason to be seen coming and going from there; we’re all either prefects or quidditch captains.”

Hermione was nodding quickly. “Yes, that should work, and we can use the cloak and the map,” she said absently, not seeing the suspicious look that Snape shot Harry.  
“I think I should be the one to set up the meetings. People will never suspect that he’s meeting with me, even if they are watching him.”

Snape gave her an odd look. “You would be willing to do that? Draco has not exactly been kind to you over the years.”

Hermione pursed her lips, “Trust me, I know. But I wouldn’t leave anyone to suffer like that, not even Malfoy. Besides, if he’s trying to do the right thing, shouldn’t we help him? Everyone should get a chance to prove what kind of person they are, and I don’t think Malfoy has had one, what with his father.”

If Snape was surprised by her words, he didn’t show it, instead giving his small paper strewn coffee table a troubled look.

While Harry didn’t trust Malfoy as far as he could throw him, he did trust Hermione to know what she was doing and to make the right call if he did anything suspicious.

“I think it’s a good idea, ‘Mione. Just try not to punch him again, yeah?”

Snape gave him a startled look but nodded after a moment. “We will inform Dumbledore. We should also set the meeting as soon as possible. If he’s desperate enough to reach out to the Order, this is not something we can delay.”

Hermione nodded quickly before turning to Harry. He sighed but rose wordlessly, bringing Snape with him as he moved to his trunk. He popped it open, sorting through his few possessions quickly and pulling out what Hermione would need. A faint flush stole over his face at the look Snape gave him when he handed the map and cloak over to his friend.

She bundled everything up and carefully placed it all in her small clutch before leaning forward and kissing Harry on the cheek.  
“I’ll keep you informed. I’ll try to set everything up in the next day or so. I don’t know if Malfoy is leaving for the holidays or not.”

“Well, see if you can get him to agree to a time to meet before then if possible,” Harry said, wanting to get all of this started now that they were dedicated to it. Maybe Malfoy would be less of a git now he was switching sides. Probably not.

Snape stood off to the side, looking concerned and uncertain.

“Thank you, Ms. Granger, for not only bringing this to me but for being willing to help. I know that Draco is difficult, but he is not a fundamentally bad person, and I don’t believe that he truly believes the things his father does. He’s too much like Narcissa, and she was never a fanatic.” he finished, looking like he might like to say something else in his godson's defense, but he wasn’t sure what would work.

‘Mione just nodded and shot him a quick smile before ducking out and heading back to the Gryffindor tower.

They stood in silence for several minutes before Snape seemed to shake himself out of it and moved toward the bedroom, pulling a set of ridiculously worn sleep clothes from his wardrobe. They were at least as bad as some of the ones Harry had, and Harry hadn’t imagined that the otherwise immaculately dressed man would own such things.

Harry gathered his sleep clothes, and they turned wordlessly to change out of their dress outfits. Harry slipped quickly into his pyjamas and drew his thumb down the side of Snape’s hand to let him know he was dressed. They had developed a set of silent signals over the last month, entirely by accident, but they made life more manageable somehow.

Snape turned and drew him back into the sitting room, his dark eyes troubled. Harry didn’t think either of them would be able to sleep anytime soon, so when Snape picked up the book he had been reading before they left and settled onto the couch, Harry willingly joined him.

He sat watching the fire for a long time, and when Harry looked over and met the onyx eyes of the man beside him, they held a puzzled warmth he hadn’t imagined they could.

* * *

It was very early in the morning when they finally made their way to bed. Harry had fallen asleep and slid slowly sideways until he was resting against Severus’ shoulder. Severus had woken him and herded him to bed, settling in next to him, eyes gritty with lack of sleep and head pounding with worry.

He still couldn’t believe the Golden Trio, or duo as the case may be, had agreed so readily to help Draco. He knew his godson, the child had a list of faults as long as the quidditch pitch, but he loved him regardless. He knew that for most every fault, he had a redeeming quality.

Draco loved fiercely and was rabidly protective of those he thought of as his. He could be almost as stupidly brave as the man lying next to him, and he had the kind of burning intelligence that Severus had very rarely seen matched. But that didn’t negate the way he had treated Potter and Granger over the years. He was grateful, horribly so, for their willingness to help. He knew how much weight it would carry with the Order to have two of the Golden Trio on his side when he argued for Draco and Narcissa.

If Draco were suspected, he would never make it out, and he knew with intimate detail precisely who was residing at the manor. They needed all the help they could get.

His stomach rolled uncomfortably as his mind turned to what else this meant for him. He had been resolutely ignoring it since he had found out the bond would not be easily broken, but tonight had brought it to the fore. He had known what would happen since that day Dumbledore had sat down with him and planned out his death with such utter disregard for what it would do to Severus to have to kill him. He knew how to would destroy whatever bits of a life he had managed to scrape together, and he had reluctantly agreed to it anyway. At the time, his life wasn’t something he fancied anyway.

Even though it didn’t matter now as far as securing a trusted position in the ranks of Death Eaters, he couldn’t avoid his unbreakable vow. He’d only given the vow on Belletrix's instance when he had already promised to go through with the murder. It had seemed like such a good way to build trust for no real price. He should have known better. Nothing in his life came without a price.

He swallowed heavily as he looked at the ruffled head of black hair buried in the pillow beside his. Harry had been such a shock. Every time he expected the boy to turn from him, he pulled him closer. He was nothing like Severus had thought, and he could admit he was still struggling to adjust his perceptions. But even when he was awful, Harry still somehow managed to be kind. It was as if once Harry decided to like someone. He did it without reservation like he did everything else. Severus had no idea where he got it.

Neither of his parents could claim the kind of understanding or forgiveness that Harry had, not even Lily. For Merlin's sake, he hadn’t even hesitated to hand over his most prized possessions in the effort to help a boy he truly hated.

Severus felt his breath catch as he finally admitted to himself what had to happen. He wouldn’t allow Harry to die. He had promised to keep him alive that awful night when he’d lost Lily, but he had never really been invested past that. He knew it was wrong and petty, but some small part of him had blamed Harry for Lily’s death. If he hadn’t been there, the Dark Lord would never have targeted her with such determination. He knew the bulk of the blame was on his shoulders, and he would spend the rest of his life trying to pay for that mistake, but he hadn’t put his distaste for Harry far enough away, using the excuse that it made playing his part easier.

His long fingers tangled in the edge of the soft white comforter, his eyes tracing shadows on the ceiling cast from the dying flames of the fireplace in the corner of their room.

But now… Now the idea of Harry being hurt, of him dying, it made his chest constrict. So he would do what he had to, he could give him that much. When Dumbledore died, and the block was broken, the Headmasters magic no longer standing between them and the Dark Lord, he would have to act fast. He had to break the link before Voldemort could pull enough of Harry’s magic through to hurt him. The only way to guarantee that Harry survived was to make sure that Severus himself did not.

He felt a bitter smile lifting the edge of his mouth. Just as his lonely and miserable life had been invaded with chaos in the form of a ridiculous Gryffindor, making him feel like he maybe wasn’t as alone as he feared, he would have to leave.

He lifted a trembling hand and very carefully touched just the tips of that wild hair. He might never forgive him, but he would be safe. As safe as Severus could make him.

* * *

Hermione had barely managed any sleep the night before, sitting down to work through as many plans as she could. She had opened the map to sit on the bed in front of her while she worked out her thoughts in one of her locking notebooks she kept for Order business. Her eyes kept drifting to the dot labeled Draco Malfoy, pacing across the Slytherin common room.

He had finally sat down on what she can only imagine was one of the couches and perhaps fallen asleep just as she had drifted off. She woke only a few hours later, covered in paper, her quill stuck to her cheek, and all of her dorm mates still asleep. The red curtains around her bed were drawn tightly, the silencing spells she’d put up the night before holding strong.

Hermione sat up and checked the map only to find Malfoy missing from the Slytherin areas. She scanned the map, eventually finding him in the kitchen of all places. She frowned, but got up and quickly dressed, sneaking from her dorm with the map and the cloak tucked under her arm.

She slipped out of the portrait hole quietly enough she didn’t wake the Fat Lady. She flipped the cloak over herself, having used it often enough with Harry to know to muffle her footsteps, and headed down to the kitchens.

When she arrived at the painting with the pear, she checked the map and saw that Malfoy was still there. She trusted the Hogwarts house elves, but she wouldn’t risk it, so she sat down in the corridor and cast a warming charm on the stone, settling in to wait for Malfoy.

* * *

Draco leaned over the small table in the corner of the kitchen he found himself at more and more often. If someone had told him a year ago that he would spend most of his time hiding with house elves and consorting with Granger, he would have laughed himself sick then probably hexed them.

He sighed heavily, cradling his coffee against his chest. He knew he couldn’t expect to hear back from Granger so soon, but he needed to know if he would be getting the help he needed or if he would have to try to make it in the muggle world with Mother. He shuddered at the thought. It was a last resort since he was reasonably sure that one of them would accidentally break the statue of secrecy within the first few days, resulting in them being dragged right back in front of the Dark Lord.

He would give anything at this point. He had known as soon as the Dark Lord had marked him and, in the next moment, given him an impossible task, that he wouldn’t make it out of this war alive. He had stopped fighting it sometime in the last few months and had turned his attention to trying to save his mother instead. When Severus had so abruptly gone from the Dark Lords trusted inner circle to traitor, he had had a moment of hope, wondering if perhaps Severus could get them out. He knew his Godfather loved him. He suspected that Severus loved him more than his father did.

But when they couldn’t get Potter off of him, he knew that he’d never be able to plan their escape with the Savior hanging on every word. He had gone back to planning, ineffectively but hoping he might stumble across a better idea than trying to murder one of the strongest wizards of the last several centuries.

Then the letter had come. Just a few innocent sentences to cause so much panic.

_Draco, _

_I’ve decided to remodel the East wing, and I fear it will not be done until after the new year. I will be staying to supervise the crews, but it will not be fit for you to be home over the holidays. Please plan to remain at Hogwarts._

_I love you, more than all the stars,_

_Mother_

He had known then that she didn’t expect to live much longer. She wasn’t remodeling anything. She was trying to keep him out of harm's way. He didn’t know what was going on at home, but the last time she had said those particular words, he had been so sick with Dragon Pox that they had kept him at St. Mungos for almost a month. It was something they had said when he was very small and started when she had taken him out onto the manor grounds to look up at his constellation. He had trouble finding it and was amazed that his mother always could.

When he had asked her how she always knew just where it was, she had told him it was because she loved him more than all the stars, so his shown the brightest to her.

A sharp clunk brought him abruptly back to the kitchen, and he realised he had dropped his coffee. He sat watching the cooling liquid spread across the table, not particularly inclined to do anything about it.

A small elf came up a moment later and cleaned it with a snap of their fingers, giving him a concerned look. He cleared his throat and nodded quickly in thanks before he got up and slid silently out behind the portrait.

He took a deep breath, looking up and down the empty corridor before turning slowly toward the entrance hall. He wasn’t dressed for it, but a walk around the lake seemed like an excellent idea—anything to get out of the suddenly oppressive walls.

He had only taken a few steps when everything went slightly hazy, and a small but strong hand wrapped tightly around his arm.

He tried to jerk back, but the hand clung tighter and was joined by a voice he recognized hissing at him to hold still before he knocked something off.

He froze and turned to look down at the small bushy haired witch who had a death grip on him and was in the process of dragging him to what appeared to be a nearby broom closet.

Granger stuffed him in and followed quickly, snapping the door shut and casting privacy charms around the small room. She stared for a moment at a ratty piece of paper before she gave a satisfied nod and placed it in her pocket.

The room appeared to be primarily occupied by a bucket, several rags, and the saddest mop Draco had ever seen. Otherwise, it was barely big enough to hold both of them, the stone walls scraping Draco’s elbows on either side.

Draco just stood there, his brain trying to catch up with the last few minutes. It appeared, Granger had abducted him, and she had been significantly more successful at it than he had been last night. He glared at her when she gave him a smug look, seeming to know precisely what he was thinking.

“What the hell Granger?” he hissed, throwing his hands out as far as he could, indicating the whole situation.

“What? It’s a broom cupboard, Malfoy. I know your people don’t have a basic understanding of cleaning tools, but I would have thought you would at least know what one was.” She smiled at him, her hair floating around her head alarmingly.

Draco sputtered but found he didn’t have the energy to take on Granger this early in the morning. A muggleborn had already abducted him for Merlin's sake.

“Funny Granger. What are we doing here?” he said instead.

She frowned at him but seemed to take pity. “I’m here to set up a time for you to meet with Snape and Harry.”

He stared at her, shocked. “You mean they already agreed to meet with me? You already talked to them?” he was horribly confused. He would never have expected Potter to agree so quickly, or possibly at all. Severus must have pushed the issue.

“Of course I already talked to them, you sounded like it was urgent. And yes, they both want to help. I’ve been making possible plans, but we’ll need to go over details and call in a few favors with some of the Order members.” She frowned at him.

“Did you decide you don’t need us after all?” Granger sounded suddenly suspicious, and Draco saw her subtly slide her wand into her hand.

“No!” he shouted, his hand coming up. Granger startled and brought her wand halfway up before she clenched her jaw and slowly lowered it.

“No,” he said more softly. “I didn’t expect to hear from you for a few days at least. I didn’t think any of you would jump at the chance to help me.” he tried for sarcastic, but he was afraid it just came out as tired.

“Well, we are. Are you leaving for the holidays?” She asked, unknowingly making his stomach roll.

“No, I’ll be remaining here,” he responded stiffly.

“That’s good, we can try to get a plan into place faster,” she muttered. “Can you meet tomorrow night? Most of the students will be gone by midday tomorrow.”

“Of course. Where should I meet them?” he asked, hoping that the Gryffindors might have an actual plan.

Granger gave him a look. “Here, just meet me here, and I’ll take you to the meeting spot.”

He clenched his teeth but nodded anyway. It’s not like he had much choice.

“Fine, here ten tomorrow night,” he said, trying to regain some semblance of control of the situation.

She gave him a knowing look but nodded before turning to the door and disappearing entirely. He watched in shock as the door opened and closed again quietly without ever seeing Granger again.

He knew it. He fucking knew Potter had an invisibility cloak. That utter bastard.

* * *

Harry woke slowly for once, no Tippy shaking him awake. An actual Sunday lie-in was not something he had gotten since the whole bonding incident. Since they had such little time during the week, Snape typically tried to brew for a few hours on the weekends, and he preferred to get started early, which meant that Harry was being dragged back and forth to the greenhouses at completely unacceptable hours.

Harry stretched, enjoying the warmth of the heavy blankets and the warm press of Snape against his side. His groggy brain took several minutes to solve why this seemed like such a problem. When it finally did, his eyes snapped open, and he jerked his head around to see Severus still deeply asleep. The bolster was shoved to the top of their pillow collection and not currently serving its duty as neutral territory.

Harry looked at it with mild alarm, then carefully scooted himself over until he had a few inches of clearance before he reached to shake Snape.

The man came awake as if he’d been hit with a particularly nasty Weasley product, like he always did, and sat bolt upright in bed, his hair a fuzzy black halo around his head and dark eyes blown wide.

He looked down at Harry, a comically surprised look on his face. “Where’s it?” he muttered, awake but plainly confused.

“The bolster elected to move to higher ground for the night,” Harry said, motioning to the top of the pillow pile. Snape looked at it with bleary interest before he stretched and reached for his wand for the time.

A flick of his wand projected fuzzy numbers that Harry couldn’t quite make out without his glasses. He grunted in a vaguely questioning tone from his position under the blankets and received a disgusted look he could just decipher. Still, Snape answered him anyway, "half-past nine,” he grumbled before falling back onto the bed.

Harry was just starting to struggle upright, ignoring Snape’s noise of disapproval and the insistent tug on the bracelet that came with it and was considering whether there would be any breakfast left by the time they made it to the Great Hall when a silvery otter slid onto the end of the bed. It turned a quick circle, bounding around like its real life counterpart before speaking in Hermione’s voice.

“I spoke with Malfoy. We have a meeting set for ten tomorrow night. Expect us by a quarter past.” The otter faded away as the message ended, form dissolving into a silvery mist and sweeping over the bed like smoke before dissipating.

Snape blinked a few times before raising his eyebrow at Harry from his position flat on his back in an uncoordinated sprawl. “Ms. Granger does not delay, does she?” he asked, his face betraying his pleasure at how quickly they were moving to help his godson.

“Nope. She’s a terror when she’s got something that needs doing. I reckon she’d have him put away somewhere safe within the month if we left her to it.” Harry responded seriously.

Snape just shook his head before finally dragging them both out of bed.

* * *

They were just finishing breakfast, having found most of the rest of the castle had elected to laze around as well and were getting just as late a start when a nondescript tawny owl swooped in and dropped a small scroll over Severus’ tea mug.

With a speed that would have rivaled most professional quidditch players, Potter snatched it out of the air before it could finish its dive, holding it out to Severus with his left hand while he yelled in rebuke at the retreating owl.

Severus gave the scroll a pinched look. He knew exactly who it was from. He’d had to dry off similar messages more than once. He had upset the owl the first few times it had delivered to him by refusing to take the missive, and now it refused to be bribed back into compliance.

Harry turned back to his breakfast, carefully rolling his pancakes into thin tubes, smeared heavily with jam, as Severus opened his post.

He frowned in distaste at Lupin's neat script, politely inquiring as to whether he would have time to complete the wolfsbane potion this month and, if so, when would be a convenient time for the werewolf to stop by.

It had been several months since he had heard from the wolf. Lupin had been spending so much of his time with the packs, trying to convince them to join the Order.

Severus looked up at the sound of Harry pointedly clearing his throat and realised he had been sneering down at his tea for the last several minutes. Potter raised his eyebrows in silent question.

Snape handed over the slip of paper, watching Harry’s face as he read through it quickly. Surprisingly, unhappiness crept over the young man’s expression. Severus had fully expected Potter to be ecstatic to find he would be seeing his father’s pet wolf again.

Potter glanced up and caught his look, flushing uncomfortably. “I haven’t really seen him since Sirius died,” he said softly, toying with the handle of his mug of tea, aligning it exactly parallel to the edge of the table.

Severus gave him a sharp look, wondering at the odd mix of guilt and anger on Harry’s face.

“It hasn’t been easy to talk to people who knew Sirius. Besides, I haven’t wanted to talk to him since I saw what I did in your pensieve.” Potter finished, face flushed.

Severus shifted uncomfortably but couldn’t think of a response that wouldn’t start an argument or reveal the odd emotions suddenly churning in his chest, so instead, he pushed his chair back, Harry scrambling to follow him.

“Come on, Potter, we need to start the potion if you want Lupin to remain mostly sane this month,” Snape said as he briskly moved through the Hall, eyeing the enormous Christmas trees that Hagrid had brought in with distaste.

The castle was festooned with its standard Christmas decorations, which seemed to multiply and spread the closer to the holiday they got. He had seen one of the portraits walking past with a Santa hat that clashed awfully with his stuffy Victorian era dress robes and someone, he could only assume Flitwick, had charmed several suits of armor to sing off key carols when you approached closely enough. He’d been startled badly by one earlier in the week and had hexed it before he realised what it was, much to Harry’s amusement.

They made it down to their rooms and were walking into Snape’s lab when he glanced over at Potter just in time to see him stuff what appeared to be the remainder of a jam-filled pancake into his mouth. Severus gave him a look of complete disgust before hitting him with an overly powerful scourgify.

Harry yelped, the unrepentant grin falling off his face and replaced with a scowl. “Merlin Snape, I’m not a child, you don’t need to forcibly clean me after I eat.”

Severus sneered at him “Do you have any idea what adding jam to a wolfsbane potion would do to it?”

“No, what?” Harry asked, looking intrigued despite himself.

“I’ve no idea and no intention of finding out,” he responded with a smirk.

Harry rolled his eyes at him but huffed a small laugh before heading toward the large lab table.

One of the first things he had done when he had gotten these rooms was to have a small lab added. Over the years, the lab had been expanded several times, and while it wasn’t the size of some of the labs that other professional brewers or researchers had, it served him well.

The dungeon's walls had been coated and sealed in the muggle fashion. While he did, of course, use charms for safety and containment, the fewer pieces of active magic he had in the room, the less interference with the brewing process there would be.

The room itself was filled with shelves and cabinets tucked tight to the walls, carefully labeled ingredients packed away on each shelf. The center of the room was dominated by a large L shaped table, completely clear and scrubbed clean.

His lab was the area of his life that had seen the least amount of change at the introduction of Potter. The only discernible difference was now instead of one small stool, he had two.

Severus quickly assembled the ingredients needed and pulled the base of the potion from his locked cabinet. He kept it stored under layers of stasis spells, allowing him to expedite the brewing process. He had found that if he added a single drop of phoenix tears to the potion that it not only reportedly helped with the pain of the transformation but allowed him to brew large amounts of the base at once as it kept the potion stable.

Since it made the cost of the already expensive potion soar to unattainable levels, it wasn’t a practical addition for other brewers, but he was in the fortunate position of having direct access to a phoenix who had a deep love of black fly larvae and who was willing to be bribed.

He set the ingredients down, shoving a pile of lacewings in front of Potter’s stool. Harry sighed but sat down without any complaints, picking up a small wooden bowl to place the delicate wings in after he had separated them from the rest of the bug.

They worked in comfortable silence, broken only by Severus, when he pushed a new pile of ingredients over and gave terse instructions on preparation.

Sooner than Severus had expected, he was running through the first steps of the potion, Harry standing quietly at his side, their forearms stuck together, and a featherweight charm cast on Harry’s to keep interference as low as possible. Truthfully he found that having Harry there bothered him much less than he had expected it to. Not that he would ever tell him that.

* * *

Harry watched with interest as Snape carefully stirred the brown glop. He would never admit it, but one of the things he had come to enjoy the most were the days when Snape brewed. Oh, he hated having to get up early and immediately fight with whatever exceedingly vicious plant that Severus just had to have a bit of that morning, and he wasn’t fond of the beratings he had gotten the first few times he had chopped something instead of sliced it, but after a few rather loud conversations Harry had eventually just shouted at Snape, asking him why he couldn’t bother to teach the way he wrote in the 6th year book.

Something seemed to have clicked for the surly potions master that day. He was still brisk with Harry, but he was more informative, and when he did berate Harry, he helpfully added on the bits about why what he had done was wrong. Harry still managed to muck something up, typically once a week, but the instructions were helping hugely, both in his school work and when he helped Snape.

As embarrassing as it was to admit, Harry enjoyed watching the man so focused. It was the only time he seemed to let most of his guard down. Snape would get so engrossed in a project that he would absentmindedly answer any of Harry’s questions about it. On several occasions, he had gone so far as to halt his brewing so he could draw small diagrams and excitedly explain why whatever experiment he was running should theoretically work.

After the third exploded cauldron Harry had started brushing up on his more unusual shield spells and was getting almost as fast as Neville at them. He also discovered that he found potions theory fascinating, and he couldn’t help but be swept up in Snape’s unexpected enthusiasm.

Brewing the wolfsbane was interesting to watch, but Harry found himself less engrossed than usual, probably because Snape’s typical muttering had taken on an unhappy edge and didn’t hold the sarcastic excitement typical of him when he was in his lab.

“Potter, would you hand me those vials, please?” Snape’s low voice interrupted his internal wandering.

Harry reached over and quickly grabbed the vials that Snape had indicated. “Is it done?” he asked as he handed them to the other wizard.

“It needs to sit until it reaches a stable temperature, which will take four or five hours. We will know it is ready when it turns a silvery-white and the wolfsbane precipitates to the bottom. Drinking it before that would result in poisoning as the amount of wolfsbane needed to brew it successfully is larger than is safe to ingest. The lacewing bonds to it as it cools and pulls most of it into a solid at the bottom, leaving the traces left in the potion enough to be effective but no longer deadly.” Snape explained as he finished filling the second bottle.

Harry frowned “I thought that it had to be brewed fresh and taken each night of the week leading up to the full moon, right?”

“Correct,” Snape answered, turning to Harry with a faintly surprised look.

“Then why did you brew two doses tonight?” he asked.

“Because I have made a small addition to the potion that stabilizes it. It still loses its potency quickly, but it doesn’t begin to degrade for just over 24 hours, letting me brew two days worth at once.” Snape responded, tuning to clean up his workbench.

Harry absently began scrubbing the table as Snape moved the cauldron to the sink and started putting ingredients to the side, carefully lining them up but not bothering to put them away since he would need them again in a couple of days for the next batch.

“I thought that the wolfsbane potion was difficult to brew?” Harry asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had descended as they cleaned.

“It is one of the more difficult things to make. It is quite easy to kill your charge instead of taming him if you are not careful.” Snape said.

“But it couldn’t have taken you more than an hour, and I’ve seen you make stuff that seems a lot harder,” Harry said, confused now.

“Ah, that would be because I premade the base, which is the more volatile portion, and admittedly most of the things you have seen me brew were highly experimental and, therefore, both more difficult and more dangerous,” Snape explained.

Harry somewhat reluctantly felt his respect for the man increase as he realised that one of the potions regarded as most difficult in the world took Snape all of an afternoon to make, and he had gone and improved it.

“Why do you teach here?” Harry suddenly blurted out, having wondered for years why someone who appeared to hate children so much surrounded himself with them. The last month had only made it more of a mystery as Harry became more and more convinced that Snape could make considerably more money and be a great deal happier if he went into research.

Snape gave him a sour look. “Because Potter, it would have been difficult to convince the Dark Lord that I was a worthwhile spy if I couldn’t get close to Dumbledore.”

Harry considered this for a moment, the hard bristled brush he was scrubbing with slowing.

“Alright, but that’s not something you have to worry about now. Do you think you’ll stay on?” Harry asked, honestly curious.

Snape got the strangest look on his face like he was both ecstatic and depressed all at once.

“I suppose it would be possible for me to move on now. Though if we cannot get you off of me, I’ll have at least one more year here.” It was said with a resentful air, but Harry could see sadness lurking in the dark eyes, and he couldn’t begin to guess at its cause.

Suddenly looking uncomfortable, Snape tugged at his arm. “Come, I need to respond to Lupin, and we should take advantage of our free time. I believe it’s far past time for us to resume our dueling practice.”

Harry followed eagerly, thoughts of next year scattering at the promise of physical activity. The last month and a half had been difficult for him in many ways, but what had bothered more than he expected was how little exercise he had gotten. Harry was used to flying most days, and he had a strict exercise regimen to keep him in shape for quidditch and also for his irritating habit of finding himself running at full speed from groups attempting to murder him.

They successfully got a note delivered to Remus; the process eased considerably by Snape simply calling for Tippy and asking her to take it to Lupin to avoid the delay in time that owl post would have. When Harry asked why Tippy didn’t merely take the potion itself, he had been informed that it did not do well with any magical travel, its properties changing unpredictably.

They moved easily up the stairs toward the seventh floor, flocks of students dodging them as they ran back and forth between common rooms, making plans for the holidays and searching for last minute misplaced items. Portraits called out to various students of their previous houses, trying to help but mostly just adding to the mayhem.

The staircases seemed to be more active than usual, the castle itself joining in the excitement, railing festooned with tinsel and evergreen, several having come loose to trail merrily through the air behind the shifting stairs.

Harry grinned up at Snape, the pre-holiday madness strangely comforting in its familiarity, only to have Snape give him a small but genuine smile in return. It sent an odd shock of pleasure through him and startled him enough that he stumbled over the last stair to the seventh floor.

A wiry arm looped around him as Snape reached across his chest and caught him before he could fall. “I have no idea how you ever managed to stay on a broom Potter.” The deep voice murmured into his ear, and he barely suppressed the shiver that tried to run down his spine.

Harry pulled back quickly, apologizing as he flushed what he was sure was a very unbecoming splotchy red. He was confused and unsettled by his reaction, but decided that it must be that he wasn’t comfortable with Snape touching him that much, even as he ignored the small voice in his head calling him a liar, turning to hurry down the corridor.

They made it to the room of requirement without further incident and set themselves up with multiple practice dummies after prompting the room to appear. It had created itself to be smaller than the room they used for DA practice sessions, and there were considerably fewer cushions, though more dummies, and these looked slightly different, more sinister somehow.

After a short discussion, Harry agreed to handle shielding while Snape tried to take out the dummies that would move around them.

Harry flicked his wand, triggering the magic in the room, then immediately stepped back out of Snape’s way and threw a shield up around them.

Several stunners hit the shield at once, making it flex inward alarmingly until Harry pushed more power into it, thickening it.

“You’re making it too hard to get through the shield Potter, thin it out,” Snape commanded his attention on the dummies that were sliding around them at an alarming speed.

“If I make it thinner, the stunners will get through,” Harry responded, teeth gritted as yet another volley of hexes hit them.

“Then figure out how to make it thinner where I need it to be.” the other man snapped, irritation clear.

Harry huffed and tried to thin it out just in front of Snape, but he couldn’t keep track of where the man would be firing next and didn’t want to weaken too much of the shield. Snape seemed to be getting more and more irritated until finally, Harry accidentally thickened part of the shield and thinned another, just in time to watch Snape spin toward the thicker portion. Harry had just opened his mouth to warn the other man when the stunner Snape sent off rebounded and slammed straight into Harry’s chest.

Harry came to lying on his back and looking up into the unfocused face of an extremely irritated potions master.

“I see you’ve decided to rejoin me, you idiot.”

For a moment, Harry was sure that he had added the insult on in his head since it was what he always imagined Snape saying whenever he spoke to Harry in that tone. His eyes narrowed as he realised the older man had, in fact, called him an idiot and didn’t look in the least sorry for hitting him with a stunner.

“That was awful, and we are certain to die if we have to take on anyone other than perhaps Longbottom. Though I would remind you that Longbottom was part of the group to take us out last time.” Snape continued, his voice so dry it was almost painful as he handed him the glasses he seemed to have lost when he went down.

“I couldn’t figure out where you were going to move next,” Harry grumbled, hauling himself to his feet. He was surprised that nothing hurt. He must not have hit the ground as hard as he usually did when he was stunned.

“Come, let us start again.”

Harry sighed but moved to take his place beside Snape.

* * *

Severus finally called a halt two hours later in the interest of not being murdered by the castle. Their practice session had degraded as time went on, both of them managing to get in each others way more and more often. Potter couldn’t seem to anticipate where Snape would be aiming, which was fairly predictable with the dummies, and would be even worse when facing people.

Severus had to admit that he had on more than one occasion misjudged where Potter would be and had tripped him. That one had resulted in Snape waking up half sprawled over the other man’s lap, his back aching where he had landed on Harry’s knee.

The last two times that Harry had tripped over him, he had managed to save his balance, but lose his glasses. They had had to firm up the shield to prevent anything coming through, and Severus had to find them before they could continue.

“Why do you insist on keeping those infernal things, Potter?” Severus snapped, sitting down on a low bench the room had conjured for them as the dummies retreated to stand against the wall, several of them still lightly smoking.

“On keeping what? My glasses?” Potter asked, looking up in confusion from where he had been studying a scorched hole in his trainers.

“Yes. They’re a liability. I will not be able to stop and ensure that you have them in the middle of an actual battle,” Snape said, frustration at their poor performance bleeding through.

“I keep them because I need to see. I think if all I can see are some blurry blobs running at me, I’ll probably be even more of a liability.” Harry responded, looking at him like he’d lost his mind.

Severus frowned, “Do you have some particular objection to taking an oculus potion?”

Harry just stared at him, a completely dumbfounded look on his face. “You mean to tell me that there’s a potion that will fix my eyesight, and I’ve spent the last five years wearing these stupid things?” Potter was almost shouting by the end, looking somewhat hysterical.

“Of course there’s a potion that will fix your eyes. For Merlin’s sake Potter, we have one that can regrow your bones in a night. You have in your possession a potion that will give you something as completely undefinable as luck.” Severus said, disbelief in his voice. Did the man really not know that his eyes could be corrected?

“Where can I get it? Can we go now?” Harry started to stand as if he were planning on dragging Snape through the castle until someone gave him the information he wanted.

“Calm down Potter. It’s not that simple. You’ll need an examination to determine what sort of issues you have with your eyes before the potion can be brewed. We can go by and ask Madam Pomfrey on the way back to our rooms. As soon as she gives me the report, I can start brewing it. It’ll take a few weeks, but it isn’t terribly difficult.” Severus reassured him, more amused than upset by that point.

“You would do that? You would make it for me?” Harry was looking at him with something undefinable in his eyes and a quiet sort of vulnerability in his voice.

Severus shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. “Yes, of course. As we’ve just established, I may very well be killed by those absurd glasses. Consider it an act of self-preservation.”

Harry stared hard at him for a moment, and he was afraid of whatever might be in his eyes because it certainly wasn’t the detached self-service that had come out of his mouth.

“Thank you,” Harry said softly, but with a great deal of feeling behind it.

Severus shook himself and stood, bringing Harry with him. “Come along, Potter, we need to get bruise paste on pretty much all of us and see Poppy before dinner.

* * *

In the end, the exam only took Harry about 30 minutes, and Madam Pomfrey handed the results to Snape before they left. She had looked appalled that he hadn’t known it was an option and had apologized profusely for not discussing it with him. It was something that was taken care of very early in wizarding families, and usually, any health concerns were addressed for muggleborns during the months before Hogwarts started.

It had come up that Hagrid had been the one to take him to Diagon alley, at which Snape looked murderous and had immediately asked if he had gone to St. Mungos for the standard first year checks. Harry had admitted that he hadn’t, which had sent the mediwitch into a panic. Four vaccinations and a scan for hereditary diseases later, they were headed back to the dungeons, Snape grumbling about incompetence.

Harry was feeling warm and dizzy, an apparent side effect of the Dragon Pox vaccine. He barely noticed when Snape leaned over into the fire and called for Dumbledore to join them, before he turned and forcibly settled Harry onto the couch, wrapping him efficiently in a blanket and tucking him against the couch arm. Harry gave him a confused but happy smile and sunk comfortably further down, eyes drifting shut.

* * *

Severus watched Harry’s eyes slowly closed and his head fell back, cricking his neck into an awkward angle. He sighed and leaned over, pushing a small pillow behind the other man’s head and settling him more solidly on it.

Between the amount of magic that Harry had used that day and the vaccines, he had fully expected to have to carry Potter to their rooms, only to be pleasantly surprised to see him stagger in on his own. Today had once again reinforced that Severus had to stop taking anything about Harry for granted. How he had been in the wizarding world for this long without knowing he didn’t have to keep his glasses was alarming. Had he just not noticed that no one else wore glasses? Except for Albus, but that was strictly for reading, and Severus was fairly certain to help him cultivate the friendly old wizard look.

Glasses were a fashion statement and had fallen out of favor until Potter had started school. Even then, it took several years for it to catch on, so the only people who wore them were adults he would not see regularly or children more than a few years his junior.

Severus grimaced as he remembered the look on Poppy’s face when she heard that Potter had been running around the school for five and a half years with no vaccinations. Hagrid was going to hear about that.

Their practice today had been a complete disaster, enough so that he was half convinced that they might be more of a hazard to each other than whoever tried to attack them. The amount of power that Harry had thrown into his shield had been frankly impressive, though. If Severus had used that much magic, he would have been out after 45 minutes, an hour at the very most. Harry was still going strong when they quit two hours in, only small signs of magical fatigue showing.

His thoughts were interrupted by the fire flaring, Dumbledore stepping gracefully out of it a second later.

“Severus, my boy, what can I do for you?” Albus said cheerfully and far too loudly, midnight blue robes with small silvery stars swirling around him.

“Keep your voice down, Harry just fell asleep,” Snape said sharply but quietly, turning to check on the man beside him and entirely missing the dumbfounded look on the Headmasters face.

“Is he quite alright?” Albus asked, worried now. Harry must have been injured to have Severus fussing over him though even that would be a shock.

“Yes, he’s fine, he just spent a great deal of energy in dueling practice, and we found out today that he had not been taken to have his first year health checks.” Severus paused here, looking pointedly at Dumbledore. “He had to have several vaccinations, including Dragon Pox, and he’ll be receiving the oculus potion.” The last was said with a certain amount of challenge as if anyone could be foolish enough to suggest otherwise.

“Of course, my boy. I’ll have to have a word with Hagrid about that. I should have made sure that proper checks had been done.” Albus at least looked troubled by this but kept shooting Severus puzzled looks.

“Is that all you called on me for? I’m afraid I have several pressing matters,” Dumbledore said, starting to turn toward the fire again.

“Draco came to me. Well, to Granger, actually.” His words halted the Headmaster. “He believes that the Dark Lord intends to murder Narcissa and wishes to come to our side. He has asked for our help in removing her from danger.”

Albus’ eyebrows had risen almost to his hairline by the time he responded, “How very interesting.” he said, a contemplative look coming over his face. “I suppose we should call an Order meeting as soon as possible. I would like to help the boy Severus, but you know that with Narcissa involved, we will need both the help and the approval of the rest of the Order.”

Severus felt a brief moment of rage, even though he had expected this response. He knew why Draco wouldn’t be trusted, just as he knew that his godson would have an uphill battle for the rest of his life, needing to continually prove that he wasn’t a Death Eater. Severus knew that battle far too well and wished desperately that he could spare him it.

“We are meeting with him tomorrow night to get further details. How soon can you set a meeting with the Order?” Snape asked.

“Give me two days, and we will see if we can get them approved and a plan in place. You mentioned that Ms. Granger was involved?” Albus asked curiously.

“Yes, she was the one Draco came to. Clever of him actually,” he responded, absently tucking the blanket more firmly around Harry, making sure to cover his feet, which currently bore his favorite socks, horrible bright things with snitches all over them. One had a mild burn mark, and Severus grimaced at the complaints he was sure to hear for it.

Harry muttered something softly and turned toward Severus, tucking himself deeper into the couch and wrapping his free hand around Severus’ left arm, pulling it close to his chest.

Snape grunted slightly at the abrupt tug but allowed himself to be dragged closer, merely shifting to get comfortable. He glanced up to see Albus staring at him as though he’d grown another head and stiffened when he realised how he had been behaving in front of the Headmaster. He had gotten too used to it just being himself and Harry in their rooms with no one to question the oddity of them.

He had started to disentangle himself and move away, hoping not to wake Harry, when Albus spoke softly.

“It’s alright, Severus. I’m delighted to see that the two of you are managing to get along. I take it things have been going well?” he inquired, a distinctive twinkle in his eye the Snape was almost entirely sure he did not want to place.

“Better than could be expected.” Severus paused, his face taking on a tinge of pink. “I’m afraid I may have been unnecessarily hard on him over the years.” He admitted grudgingly, but he settled back against Harry without further attempts at escape.

“Well, it appears that he has forgiven you, so I wouldn’t worry terribly. Harry has a unique capacity to love, and I hardly think a rough start would dissuade him.”

Severus blinked at the word choice but mentally waved it away.

“I will endeavor to get a meeting set quickly. I will send you the details when I have them, but please let me know if anything changes.” Albus finished as he turned and tossed floo powder into the grate, vanishing a second later with a flair of green.

Severus leaned back on the sofa, thinking of Draco and allowed himself to drift, the warm press of Harry lulling him into a fitful sleep.

* * *

By the time the meeting with Malfoy came around, Hermione was a bundle of nerves, having spent the time planning and sending an owl to her parents to let them know that she had elected to remain at Hogwarts for most of the break instead of going to the Burrow. They had taken a short vacation in France when she had let them know she had intended to remain in the wizarding world for breaks this year.

Ron had put up token resistance when she had let him know that she would only be joining them at the Burrow for the two days that Harry and Snape would be going. Lavender had spent the entire conversation awkwardly clinging to Ron and glaring daggers at Hermione.

Ginny had been considerably more upset, declaring that Hermione was abandoning her to a household full of men with almost no reinforcements. She’d stopped complaining when Hermione had threatened to tell Mrs. Weasley that Ginny didn’t consider her adequate reinforcements.

Hermione had helped them with their trunks and waved them off in Hogsmeade before trudging back through the slushy snow to the castle and spending the rest of the day in the library writing out possible plans and looking up any spells she thought might help.

She snuck through the corridors on the way toward the kitchens, the castle so silent after the bustle of the day it was almost like she could feel the leftover energy still swirling around, making it seem somehow emptier and lonelier than usual.

She made it to the broom cupboard in record time, arriving several minutes early and ducking in to find it empty. She upturned the bucket and with a flick of her wand, turned it into a perfectly serviceable stool.

She had only a few minutes to wait before the door creaked open and admitted Malfoy, who was looking painfully groomed. His hair had grown out considerably, and he had taken to wearing it styled in a carefully casual tousle, like a neater and more intentional version of Harry’s complete disarray. His robes were pressed within an inch of their lives, and his trousers had a fold so sharp it looked like it could cut.

Hermione felt suddenly somewhat underdressed, in her comfortable jeans and a worn Weasley sweater of Harry’s from several years prior that he couldn’t fit anymore, a bit loose but convenient since they had the same first initial. Her hair had been tied up in a messy bun to get it out of her face while she worked, and she hadn’t bothered to fix it before she left the tower.

Malfoy looked her up and down, a sneer flickering over his face before he got it under control, and she was abruptly reminded that no matter how well he dressed, he was still a git.

“Come on, then.” She said quickly as she got up, raising the edge of the invisibility cloak in silent invitation.

He hesitated for only a second before ducking under with her, allowing her to loop her arm through his. She got a grimace for her trouble and was sorely tempted for a moment to abandon him to roam the halls for a bit.

They slipped out of the cupboard without a sound, moving through the halls silently. Hermione kept an eye on the map but they didn’t encounter anyone. She could see both Harry and Snape listed on the map, already in the prefect's bathroom. Snape appeared to be pacing, dragging Harry along behind him.

They got to the door without seeing anyone or speaking to one another. Malfoy made a small noise of surprise when she uttered the password and pulled him in. He stepped away as soon as she had removed the cloak.

Both Harry and Snape had spun toward the door when it opened, raising their wands. To Hermione’s surprise, Snape flicked his wand, a silent incarcerous snapping out and wrapping tightly around Malfoy.

She stepped away, alarmed. She wasn’t sure what they knew that she didn’t, but she wanted to be out of the firing line. Hermione moved immediately to Harry’s side, her wand coming up to point at Malfoy.

“What did I say to you the day before you left for Hogwarts?” Snape asked, voice hard.

Malfoy seemed to calm at this, the panicked expression falling off of his face. “You told me that the most important thing I could learn at Hogwarts was to think for myself.”

“And have you? Or are you simply looking for any way out?” Snape had relaxed slightly, but he had not removed the bindings on his godson. Hermione looked at Harry, but he kept his wand trained on Malfoy, body angled slightly so he could put a shield over all three of them if needed.

“I’m learning,” Malfoy said finally, his face pinched.

“Good.” Snape flicked his wand again, releasing Malfoy, who immediately started smoothing his robes.

He finally looked up, his blond hair slightly mussed and nodded grudgingly to Harry before he walked over to sit on one of the benches that ran along the wall. The bathroom looked as she remembered it. She didn’t choose to use it often since it was out of the way, and the mermaid frankly disturbed her. The typical piles of fluffy towels were piled along the bench, and weak moonlight streamed in through the windows. The tiles radiated heat up, making her uncomfortably warm in her sweater, and one look at Snape in his heavy wool robes confirmed he looked slightly flushed.

Hermione put her wand away, looking curiously at Harry. He met her eyes and shrugged, letting her know that he wasn’t sure but had been following along with Snape. He frowned suddenly, giving her a suspicious look.

“ ‘Mione, is that my sweater?” He muttered quietly, his hand darting out to tug the left sleeve down from where she had rolled it, revealing a hole he had torn in it during their scramble through the tunnel to the shrieking shack in third year.

“It doesn’t fit you, and it’s comfortable,” she said with more than a bit of a challenge in her eyes, pulling her sleeve from his grip. He put his free hand up in surrender, not willing to argue about it.

She glanced up to find both Slytherins watching them, Snape with amusement, and Malfoy with barely disguised impatience. She colored slightly but straightened her back, not willing to look in the least cowed by Draco Malfoy of all people.

Snape cleared his throat before speaking, drawing everyone’s attention. “Draco, we were told that you believe that your mother is in immediate danger?”

Malfoys face lost its rigidity, distress making him look like a child for a split second before he got control of himself. “Yes, she sent me a note, asking me not to come home over break.”

Snape frowned at this. “While I admit it is strange, there could be several reasons for it.”

Malfoy flushed, color rising high in his pale cheeks. “She signed it with that thing she used to say. When I was little.” He looked mortified but glared at Harry and Hermione as if daring them to say something.

Snape had gone pale, which looked more like a delicate grey on him, obviously understanding what Malfoy was alluding to, and making Harry move closer with an alarmed look.

“I see. I expect you are correct then. We will need to move quickly. Albus is hoping to assemble an Order meeting within the next two days, and you will be expected to come. Be ready to answer any questions fully and truthfully. I do not need to remind you to keep yourself civil Draco.” Snape’s voice carried a heavy note of warning.

“How soon can we get her out?” Malfoy’s face was pinched, looking thinner and pointier than usual.

“We will need to speak with the Order before we begin to make plans, we do not yet know who will help,” Snape responded, sounding apologetic.

“I have a few plans, depending on what we think is best.” Hermione interrupted, reaching into her bag to pull out her locking notebook.

All three men moved forward, crowding around her to see what she had come up with. For just an instant, she felt like a child, surrounded by looming adults. Why did all the men in her life have to be so bloody tall? Even Harry had finally gone and found the height he had misplaced throughout their early years, though he wasn’t anywhere near as tall as the lanky Slytherins, he could still tuck her under his arm and did so often.

She quickly flipped to the last entry, running over her list of options, carefully organized and numbered.

“Alright, so it depends on what we want to do. Malfoy, do you want her to disappear?” She asked.

He looked at her, puzzled. “What other options are there? She certainly can’t stay there.”

“Well, we could make her disappear, which has the advantage of making it easier for her to re-enter society after the war, but leaves open the possibility that someone will try to find her. Or we could fake her death, which switches the previous pros and cons.” Hermione finished matter of factly.

Malfoy stared at her, startled. “Fake her death. Father will chase her. If anyone believes that she ran, the only way he can save face will be to bring her back.”

“Alright. And you? I assume you’ll be going with her?” Hermione asked, checking off one of the options in her notes and underlining a number sitting beside it.

“No. It would look too suspicious. I’ll have to stay and sell it.” Malfoy responded after several moments of deliberation, his voice sounding tired and sad.

Snape jerked his head up to look at his godson, his long hair flipping over his shoulder, his temples soaked with sweat. “Draco, if you stay, you know what will be done to you to ensure that you’re telling the truth.” His deep voice held a thread of panic.

Malfoy swallowed heavily but nodded. “I know Sev, but if that’s what I have to do to keep her safe, then I will.” He sounded terribly young but determined.

Snape nodded rapidly, looking sick. “We will need to practice. You know that, don’t you?” His voice was thready and full of pain.

Malfoy just looked resigned as he acknowledged whatever plan that was making all three men look ill. Harry seemed to have caught onto the meaning quickly, and Hermoine wasn’t sure she wanted to think too hard about it.

“I think I have a plan that should work. We just need a safe house for her to stay and a house to destroy,” Hermione said quickly, hoping to distract them.

Harry raised his eyebrows at her. “Somewhere to destroy? What are you planning, ‘Mione, to blow up a house?”

“Yes. Or a shop. Really any building should work,” she answered matter of factly. All three men looked at her with alarm, so, sighing heavily, she launched into her explanation.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For any who are interested I've included the link to the spotify playlist that I tend to listen to while writing. It includes most of the songs that are referenced at the beginning of the chapters, including ones that will be referenced later on. 
> 
> open.spotify.com/playlist/45GCYzpDNUVLBoZlMCml22

'

_"there's no poetry between us"_   
_said the paper to the pen_   
_"and I get nothing for my trouble_   
_but the ink beneath my skin"_

-Gary Jules, No Poetry

Harry twisted his neck to the side to release the built up tension. He had slept on it awkwardly the night before, and it had bothered him all day. He flushed slightly at the memory of waking up with his head leaned against Snape, Remus looking down at him in complete shock.

They had fallen asleep in front of the fire, both having forgotten that Remus was supposed to come through to collect his wolfsbane potion that evening. Harry had jerked upright when he’d seen the other man, wincing as a muscle in his neck had protested, only to have Snape come awake, flipping his wand up to point at Remus before he recognized him.

Remus’ face had hardened dangerously, and it had taken several minutes of explanation before he finally relaxed. Remus had been working with the werewolf packs and had not gotten any updates from the Order for several months, and so had no idea about their incident, or about Severus having lost his status as a spy. He had only been at Grimmauld place since that morning and hadn’t run into any other Order members.

He accepted their explanation after several rounds of questions, but his eyes kept darting between the two of them, a puzzled look on his tired face. He had eventually taken his dose of wolfsbane, calling for an owl to transport the other dose to Grimmauld Place for the next night. Since Severus had managed to stabilize it, he could just make one batch per night from there on and send it by owl post, so they wouldn’t see Remus again until the next Order meeting.

He had awkwardly hugged Harry goodbye, Severus standing stiffly at his side, obviously uncomfortable with Remus being near him. Harry had ended the hug quickly, stepping back and drawing Severus with him, angling himself between the two. He had felt it when Snape relaxed, his breathing quieter, and Remus had given him a disapproving look for his trouble.

They had made their way to bed after that, Harry feeling cold and achy. He had shivered miserably for several minutes before Severus had sat up in the dark and cast a warming charm over his whole side of the bed, letting him finally fall asleep.

When they woke the next day, Severus had insisted that they try to extend their separation range, leading to one of the most frustrating days of Harry’s life. He had spent most of the day meditating and trying to feel the edges of his magic, whatever the bloody hell that had meant.

They had learned several things, the first being that Harry had a much more substantial amount of magic than Severus had expected him to, which seemed to trouble the already irritated man. The second was that, seemingly due to the first, Harry had a massive amount of difficulty when trying to pull his magic under his skin. The third was that Severus should never attempt to lead a meditation lesson. While Harry found his voice strangely soothing, it was ruined by the occasional biting remark halfway through and the man’s complete lack of patience with the exercise.

They had finally given up after Harry had lost his temper and sent a pillow sailing into the side of Snape’s head. He’d gotten a stinging hex and two hours of cold silence for his trouble. He finally managed to get a small look of mild tolerance after his fourth apology and second offering of tea. He had no idea where the first had been vanished to, but he suspected that particular teacup had met a grim end.

They had filled the last few hours before their meeting with Malfoy by working on Harry’s Oculus potion, much to his delight. He had probably irritated Snape with the number of questions he had asked. Still, as usual, the man was strangely accepting of potions related inquiries, at least outside of an actual potions classroom.

By the time it was almost complete, it was soft, delicate green, with a strange opal sheen appearing after Snape had added carefully minced clover leaves to it, and it made the whole lab smell slightly of wild mushrooms and smoke. They had gotten the potion to a point where it needed to sit undisturbed for the next fortnight before they had to leave for their meeting with Hermione and Malfoy.

Harry spent the meeting trying to remember that even though Malfoy was still a git, he was on their side. His brain was having trouble adjusting to the change, and he had to bite his tongue several times to prevent himself from saying something sure to get a less than positive reaction from everyone.

He’d been jerked roughly back to reality and got the first inkling of how serious Malfoy was about leaving Voldemort when the younger Death Eater had agreed to be tortured to ensure his shields would hold when they had to. Harry had felt a tiny spark of grudging respect flare in him, much to his horror.

Harry had been gratefully distracted by Hermione’s carefully organized plans. She seemed to have thought of almost every scenario, and even colour coded them for levels of perceived risk. Not even Malfoy could find anything to complain about by the time they were ready to leave. He swept out first, only sparing a brief goodbye for his godfather and ignoring Harry and Hermione entirely.

As Harry got ready for bed that night, handing Snape a towel when he groped blindly for it after washing his face, it occurred to him that of all of the things that had happened to him over the years at Hogwarts, this year might be the weirdest.

* * *

They spent the following week dueling poorly, brewing potions with considerably more success, and trying to push the limits of their ability to separate with mixed results.

Their record was almost a full meter before Potter’s concentration broke, and they snapped back, both of them gaining a handful of new bruises when they collided. Severus was happy with their small progress, mostly because it was progress. Their dueling was going so abysmally that he was becoming concerned that they wouldn’t make it through any confrontation, and certainly not one with a Death Eater.

By the time the Order meeting came around, almost a full week after their encounter with Draco and just a few days before Christmas, both he and Harry were strung tight, snapping at each other more than they were talking. They had gone through two full batches of burn salve while treating the mild scorch marks from the training dummies.

They had taken a small break several days before to venture into Hogsmeade to complete all of their Christmas shopping, which in no way helped either of their attitudes. It did briefly unify them in their complete desire to avoid as many crowds as possible and to actively hide from members of the press. They seemed to have a sixth sense for where Potter was located at any point in time. Snape had enjoyed his brief opportunity to take his pent up anger out on someone deserving and was almost looking forward to the article that was sure to result from the confrontation with the terrified Witch Weekly reporter.

The day of the Order meeting finally came, prompting them to abandon the room of requirement earlier than usual and clean up before leaving. Potter reverted to his regular muggle clothes, though at least they fit him now, pulling on a snug pair of jeans and a t-shirt, quickly covered by a dark blue Weasley jumper with a silver H emblazoned over the front. Snape, with a fair amount of help from TIppy, had managed to make most of Potter’s ratty, over-sized clothes slowly disappear. Once they were dressed and had smeared the last of their most recent batch of burn salve over themselves, they moved to leave and were both faced with the realisation that they would need to try to go through the floo together.

“Is it even possible? I’m not going to ask if it’s safe, I just assume it’s not.” Harry asked, a resigned look on his face.

“Theoretically, it should work. We can send items through a floo that have a greater mass than ours, but I suspect that it will not be comfortable. Perhaps a shield would be in order,” Severus responded.

Harry nodded and stepped forward resolutely, grabbing and tossing a handful of floo powder into the fire. They ducked under the mantle, and Snape wordlessly wrapped himself tightly around Harry, trying to keep both of their elbows tucked in as close as he could. Harry seemed to get the idea and tightened his hold after casting a thin, flexible shield. Two voices blended as they both yelled their destination, eyes meeting in brief horror just before they shot off.

Snape snapped his eyes closed, the spin of grates flying past, making him dizzy as he hoped that their combined command got them within at least the correct region of floos. He was reasonably certain you couldn’t be splinched during floo travel. Still, he knew if two people side along apparated each other instead of letting one lead, they were very likely to end up in two, possibly even three places at once.

Surprisingly they tumbled out of the floo and into the sitting room of Grimmauld place, Severus barely keeping his feet as Harry pitched forward, having somehow gained momentum during the trip and come out of the floo at a considerably higher speed than they’d gone in.

He used their bracelets to prevent Potter from slamming headlong into a curio cabinet filled with dusty Black heirlooms and the taxidermied bodies of some small fairy like creatures. Snape grimaced at it before turning his wand on them to clean the soot off, and in Harry’s case, blood from where he’d scraped his arm in the floo despite their precautions.

Harry gave the fireplace a dirty look. “We’re apparating back. I was completely sure we were going to come out of more than one fireplace.” Severus huffed but didn’t disagree, he was partially convinced his stomach was somewhere near the bottom of his throat.

They moved back as the fireplace flared again, announcing the arrival of Dumbledore, who climbed out gracefully and turned just in time to offer his good arm to Granger, who took it and stepped out of the green flames carefully. Draco came moments behind them, all of them having flooed in from the Headmasters office.

Before Severus could address his godson, Lupin came into the room and ushered them toward the kitchen, looking particularly jumpy. Severus felt the skin across his shoulders crawl as he was reminded that the man only had one night before the full moon and would be feeling the effects already.

Once they had all settled around the deeply pitted kitchen table, Kreacher worked his way through the room, handing out tea with shaky resentment, until he got to Draco, where he made such a fuss over him that Harry finally rolled his eyes and sent the old elf away.

“We’re waiting on just a few others before we begin,” Dumbledore said as he stirred several lumps of sugar into his tea and leaned back comfortably in one of the large kitchen chairs. Draco was standing stiffly against the counter behind Severus’ chair, looking like he was fighting to keep his typical sneer off of his face, but the almost silent rattle of his teacup on the saucer told a different story.

They all turned as they heard the floo open several times in rapid succession, and moments later, the ministry group came through the kitchen door, chatting loudly and greeting those already there. Molly Weasley must have met Arthur at work since she had arrived with them. She immediately bustled over to Harry and Granger, wrapping them in quick hugs and fussing with Harry’s hair.

She gave Severus a surprisingly warm smile before she turned and noticed Draco, her dark brown eyes raking him up and down. Severus felt himself tensing, and was getting ready to stand and move the woman away from his godson when Harry brushed their fingers together, pulling his attention away for an instant.

Harry gave him a small reassuring smile and nodded toward the pair, indicating he should watch.

Molly finished her examination, Draco standing straighter and straighter under her scrutiny until you could have used his back as a writing board. They made an odd dichotomy, two purebloods, but utterly opposed. Draco stood in luxurious, tailored robes of the latest fashion, a neat grey waistcoat, and sharply pressed trousers showing. His hair was cut perfectly, and his hands bore the marks of a recent manicure. Molly stood in robes several years out of date, her hair needing a trim and brushed carelessly back, a smudge of flour sitting just above her ear, but managing to look just as dignified.

She huffed, her bright red hair falling loose from its bun and her hands resting on her hips. “Well, with that hair, and those eyes, you must be the Malfoy boy.” Her words drew the attention of the rest of the kitchen, the older Weasley boys narrowing their eyes at Draco and moving to stand.

Arthur shoved his eldest and one of the twins back into their seats with a firm hand on their shoulders, sending a warning look to the twin he couldn’t reach. They subsided with soft grumbles, shooting suspicious glances at the Death Eater speaking to their mother.

Draco had shifted back until the counter was surely cutting into his spine, trying to hide the discomfort in his pale eyes. Severus again tried to get up and was halted, this time by Harry grabbing his arm and firmly pulling him back down. He shot a glare at the man and had started to angrily pull his arm free when Molly spoke again.

“You had best get seated young man, you don’t look like you’ve eaten, and this lot will go through dinner faster than you can get to it if you don’t take a spot.” With that, she turned and opened a small picnic basket she had brought with her, levitating dishes out onto the table in rapid succession. Draco deflated slightly, looking confused and a bit uncertain, so when Granger reached out and dragged him to the spot beside her with a put upon air, he went without complaint.

Severus let himself slump back in his chair, shooting Harry a questioning look.

“There is no world that exists where Molly Weasley doesn’t try to feed every person she comes across, particularly if they look thin or are younger than her. Malfoy is both, it was only a matter of time. Besides, it's better Molly invite him in than for you to have to force the issue.” Harry answered, very quietly.

Severus had to give himself a moment to get over the shock of Harry showing sudden Slytherin tendencies before he could focus on the rest of the room. He wasn’t sure how Potter had come up with that plan before he had, but he had been entirely right. If Severus had defended Draco, it would have established a pattern he did not want. He nodded to Potter with grudging admiration.

A plate landed in front of him, making him jerk his head up in time to meet the determined eyes of the Weasley matriarch. He sighed as he acknowledged that he would not get out of here without eating until Molly was satisfied, which was sure to be a horrifying amount. With all of their extra activity recently, particularly having added dueling in, Severus had managed to lose weight he really could not afford to. He had even caught Harry’s concerned looks at his plate more than once but had managed to keep him quiet so far with a withering glare.

Severus grimaced as Molly approached him, the woman holding a spoonful of mashed potatoes out like a weapon. A quick movement came from the corner of his eye as Harry suddenly stuck his plate over the top of Severus’, catching the heaping pile with a grin at Mrs. Weasley.

“I think Remus is looking a bit thin, don’t you?” Harry asked, voice low and face very serious. Molly gave him an alarmed look before narrowing her eyes at Remus and turning to stalk him with the bowl of potatoes.

Harry gave him a mild look. “You had best pick out something before she remembers you,” he muttered softly. Severus was afraid the look on his face might be somewhere in the range of pitifully grateful as he reached for a few things on the table he felt he could tolerate. He had known of course that Harry had noticed his aversion to eating, he just hadn’t realised that Potter had noticed that he avoided some food more than others.

The noise at the table dropped to small stilted conversations as everyone tucked in, while Draco looked at his towering plate with something between fear and awe but valiantly tried to make inroads. Granger gave a small snort of laughter at him as she made her way through the typical Weasley dinner with practiced ease. She got a vicious look for her trouble, and Draco attacked his roast beef like it had insulted him.

One of the twins was watching the spectacle with amusement and absently reached out to steal a roll from Harry’s plate, closer than the full basket of them. Moving faster than Severus imagined she could, Granger planted her fork into the back of the redhead's hand, halting him scant centimeters from her best friend's food.

The boy yelped and yanked his hand back, only to be pelted with a roll from the opposite end of the table seconds later as Granger flicked her wand, a bored look on her face. “Keep your hands off Harry’s plate,” she said mildly as she turned back to her food.

Potter shot her a grateful look and bumped her shoulder gently. The twin rubbed his hand with an alarmed look at the witch, but took his roll and quietly buttered it. No one else at the table seemed to find the exchange particularly odd, but Severus shared a brief look of bewilderment with Draco.

Finally, Albus stood with a short scrape of his chair, firelight glinting off of his snowy beard where it rested against his appalling pumpkin orange robes.

“As I’m sure everyone has noticed, we have a new face here tonight. Draco has kindly agreed to join us this evening and can hopefully answer any questions you have,” Albus said with a dreamy smile, for a moment looking alarmingly like the Lovegood girl.

A sharp snort from the other end of the table drew everyone’s attention to Madeye, who had spent most of the evening so far glaring at Draco with _both_ eyes, something even Severus had to admit was unnerving.

“I’ve got a question, Albus. Exactly how many more Death Eaters are ye planning on bringing to the Order? Just so I’ve got an accurate count, you see. We seem to be getting a bit crowded.” Moody shot a pointed look at Snape and sounded angrier than he typically did, which surprised Severus. He had thought the Alastor operated at a full rage at all times. Nothing else could explain why the man had made so many decisions that resulted in the permanent loss of body parts.

Albus started to answer, a frown bringing his bushy brows down to hover over his eyes like small disapproving clouds. Before he could, a cold voice spoke from Snape’s side.

“And what exactly do you mean by that?” Harry had tensed and sat up straight, his vivid green eyes narrowed dangerously at the old Auror.

“Watch your tone boy, I know you’ve gone and gotten yourself tied to one of them, but that just means you should be more vigilant, not defending the bastards!” Alastor said, a manic glint in his eye.

Harry opened his mouth to retort, anger in the tense line of his jaw when Albus managed to get a word in.

“Boys, that is more than enough. I suggest we all set aside our preconceived notions for the evening, it’s sure to make everything much easier. Alastor, please do try to remember that Severus is on our side, and unless I am very much mistaken, young Mister Malfoy is planning to join us as well.”

Severus pushed aside the warm feeling that bloomed in his chest at Harry’s outburst and addressed the table. “Draco is here because he wishes for the same opportunity that I was offered. I would remind those that are… hesitant… to recall the value of what I brought in return.”

“And what kind of information do you imagine a boy could bring us? Unless I’m mistaken, he’s still at Hogwarts and certainly isn’t in the kind of position you had.” Kingsley spoke up from the end of the table, his voice hard but not antagonistic.

“I know some of his plans. At least what he asked me to do.” Draco spoke up, his voice was rougher than usual but loud enough to swing everyone’s attention to him.

“Oh yeah? And what super secret very important job did You-Know-Who give to the baby Death Eater?” One of the twins mocked. Severus was reasonably sure it was George, but since he hadn’t been able to tell them apart for almost 7 years of potions, he wasn’t likely to figure it out now.

Draco’s face tightened with anger, and Severus could see him building up to a typical retort, something sure to drive a wedge into the very tenuous acceptance he was receiving. The twin that had spoken had a particular glint in his eye, and abruptly Severus understood that it hadn’t been reactionary at all but a calculated move.

Draco leaned forward, a sneer on his face, then jerked, letting out a small, undignified yelp. Silvery eyes shot wide as his godson swung around to give Granger an utterly offended look before he slumped back in his seat, ruining the lines of his neatly pressed robes. Severus glanced around the table and noted that Granger's fork wasn’t visible. He had a strong suspicion that it might currently be planted in Draco’s thigh. “He told me that I had to kill Dumbledore,” the boy muttered, drawing gasps from around the table.

The old man looked completely undisturbed by news of the assassination order, which he would be, given that Severus had told him of it last summer.

Everyone else looked stunned, sitting in silence until Granger broke in, her voice higher than usual. “Did you do something to make him want to kill you? Because that’s just suicide with extra steps.”

Draco turned to glare when Harry snorted a small laugh before responding. “My father fell out of favor when he was arrested,” he said rather pointedly. Harry pulled a face and surprisingly gave Draco a sympathetic look.

“I was also ordered to find a way to let Death Eaters into Hogwarts. I’ve been delaying where I can, but he will expect progress soon. I think he might be planning to make an example out of Mother if I cannot give him something,” Draco trailed off into silence. Even the Weasley twins looked horrified.

“I believe that brings us to the heart of tonight's meeting,” Albus broke in, his voice soft. “I believe that Mr. Malfoy is telling the truth, but I understand that many of you may not. Mr. Malfoy and I discussed the possibility before we came this evening, and he has agreed to veritaserum should it be asked of him.”

Severus snapped his head up to glare at Albus. He hadn’t been told this. Albus should have told him, should have gotten the serum from him. Albus seemed to anticipate his concern, though, and silently held up a small container that Severus recognized as one of his preferred bottles.

“Well, we can hardly trust anything he says. It’s not like Snape wouldn’t change something in the potion to save the boy.” Moody said, a distasteful mix of anger and smugness on his face.

“Ah yes, not to worry, Alastor, Severus had no idea of our plan, and this particular batch has been in my possession for several months. If you like, I would be happy to allow you to sample it for your peace of mind.” Dumbledore offered, a hard edge under his deceptively kind tone.

Moody looked rather ill and shook his head quickly, falling silent.

“Wonderful! Well then, Mr. Malfoy, if you would. Ms. Granger, perhaps you would be so good as to administer it? Three drops only, if you please.” Dumbledore handed the vial over to the surprised looking Gryffindor, but she took it after only a moment's hesitation, apparently coming to some sort of conclusion judging by the arch of her brow at her Headmaster.

Draco looked wary but tilted his head back when she indicated. She dropped precisely three drops into his open mouth before stoppering it and handing it back to Dumbledore.

Everyone sat in uncomfortable silence for several minutes as they waited for the potion to take effect, the only sound the slow scrap of Arthur's fork over his plate. Kingsley spoke first, asking the standard Auror opening questions for interrogation.

“What is your name?”

“Draco Lucius Malfoy,” his voice had taken on the monotone edge typical of veritaserum.

“What is your age?”

“Seventeen”

“Are you a Death Eater?” Moody broke in.

Draco looked over at Severus in panic, not able to correctly answer the question but feeling the overwhelming compulsion to. Since he bore the mark, the answer was yes, but as he had betrayed the Dark Lord, the answer was also no.

“Do you consider yourself loyal to Voldemort?” Granger asked quickly, shooting a glare at Moody.

“No, I’m not loyal to the Dark Lord,” Draco answered, his shoulders relaxing.

“I might take this time to remind those who appear to have forgotten that individuals under the influence of veritaserum are to be questioned carefully to ensure questions that are impossible to answer are not asked.” The bite in Severus' voice made anyone who had ever had the misfortune of being his student wince.

Moody grunted as he leaned back and crossed his scarred arms, his magical eye finally giving up its focus on Draco and spinning around in its usual nauseating way.

The questioning continued, both about his loyalty and of what plans had been put in place. It turned out that Draco only knew of the two pieces that the Dark Lord had entrusted to him. He wasn’t aware of much else but didn’t bother trying to resist the potion, answering quickly even if it was a simple acknowledgment of ignorance.

“Well, Mr. Malfoy, I believe that answers everything rather neatly,” Dumbledore said, smiling around in a general sort of way when they had confirmed that Malfoy had been telling the truth and had come to them only in a bid to save his mother’s life.

“Now hold on, Albus. I can think of a few things I’d like to ask the boy.” Moody said, glowering at Draco.

“Hey Ferret, are the rumors true, did you actually sle..” One of the twins started, a gleeful look on his face. He was interrupted by the sharp crack of Harry’s hand connecting with the table.

“George, not ok. How would you like it if I made you answer personal questions in front of everyone?” Harry’s voice was low but hard, his disapproval clear. George flushed an unbecoming red, a sheepish expression coming over his face.

“Sorry, Harry,” he said quietly, shrinking away from the glare his mother was sending him.

Before Severus could think it through, he shifted, pressing the back of his hand tight to Harry’s in thanks. Potter started slightly before pressing gently back, a tiny pleased smile curling just the corner of his mouth.

Harry’s interference served a twofold purpose, managing to stop any further questions as well. It seemed that a rebuke from the Savior was enough to reign in even Madeye, who subsided with a grumble.

“Ms. Granger, now that unpleasantness is settled, perhaps you could walk us all through your plan,” Dumbledore said, motioning to the notebook sitting in front of the bushy haired woman.

No one said anything, but all of the Aurors gave Dumbledore puzzled looks at the amount of trust he put into an 18 year old girl. Granger straightened and pulled out her notes with a muttered password, too quiet for anyone to hear. She opened the book, which kept opening, spreading out, and unfolding into a massive poster of carefully detailed steps and an excruciatingly exact timeline.

Harry grinned as he leaned over to get a better look, his shoulder pushed tight to Grangers, dragging Severus in as well.

The room echoed with the scrape of heavy chairs and benches as everyone stood up to get a better look at the paper. Granger sighed before moving her wand in a complicated twist and muttering a soft “simulacrum”, making the images on the paper jump up and project themselves onto the kitchen wall, considerably larger than they had been and easy for everyone to see.

Severus had an odd flash of nostalgia, remembering his childhood before Hogwarts, sitting in the back of the classroom in his muggle primary school, the teacher droning on as he was lulled to sleep by the buzz of the old projector.

Everyone settled back down and fell silent as they read through Granger's careful notes.

“We could use that jewelry shop, the one at the end of Knockturn Alley,” Tonks said quickly, having gotten to the part that detailed the destruction of an unknown property.

Kingsley was slowly nodding. “I know the owner. He won’t be needing it again, he was sentenced to life in Azkaban back in June. Trafficking in illegal potions ingredients.”

“What kind of potions ingredients gets you life in Azkaban?” Bill Weasley asked, his face showing his confusion.

“The kind that you can only get from a murdered child,” Kingsley answered sharply, his dark eyes haunted.

Bill turned a sickly green under his freckles and sat back, shrinking into himself.

No one protested about taking out the man’s shop, and several people offered up new ways to destroy it more thoroughly.

It was past midnight when they finally wrapped up, everyone having agreed to the timeline despite a few initial protests. The only point of real contention that was brought up was Severus being assigned with the task of escorting Narcissa. Since Harry would have to be with him, it had caused a small uproar when Lupin stepped in, his eyes flashing gold as he snarled about Severus putting Harry in danger.

Harry himself had put a stop to it, calmly pointing out that they needed Narcissa to go along with them, and there was no one else she would even pause to listen to in case Draco was unable to give her any warning. They agreed that Severus and Harry wouldn’t be part of the group that would grab her, but they would be along with her the remainder of the trip to the safe house.

Everyone slowly filtered toward the floo, except for Harry and Severus, who walked out into the barren back garden, Harry waving their goodbyes before linking hands and apparating back to Hogwarts with a sharp crack.

* * *

Harry twisted the intricate knob, shoving the heavy wooden door open, and was immediately assaulted with the smell of Molly’s cooking. He dragged Snape in behind him, clearing the way for Hermione to slip in and slam the door quickly against the cold. They had apparated in since the Weasley’s had locked their floo several months before. Their family allegiances were well known, and Arthur had received several threats at work, prompting Kingsley to set up extra precautions.

A small shuffle later, and they had peeled off their heavy outer layers. Harry divested himself of a thick wool pea coat that had somehow made its way into his side of the wardrobe. He wasn’t sure where it had come from but was reasonably confident it wasn’t Snape’s since it fit him and didn’t make him feel like a child playing dress up. The one time he had accidentally put on one of Severus’ button up shirts, the man had snorted with undignified laughter and spent the rest of the day making subtle height related puns. It wasn’t like Harry was short either, he just wasn’t freakishly tall like some people.

A loud tangle of greetings was shouted from the living room as they made their way in and started piling up presents around the already overwhelmed tree. Snape had shrunk all of them and put them in his trouser pocket. Harry found himself trying to awkwardly balance the newly enlarged pile of gaudy packages on top of a veritable hoard of other similarly wrapped presents. The theme, as usual, appeared to be primarily red and gold. The Weasley family was Gryffindors to the last, something Severus had obviously noted by the look of mild revulsion on his face.

Once they and Hermione had gotten everything successfully settled, they were swept up in the whirlwind of Weasley Christmas. Hermione was immediately abducted by Ginny and taken off to lands unknown while Harry and Snape were forcibly placed on the couch and attacked by Arthur and his overenthusiastic questions about electricity. Snape gave him a pitiful and somewhat baffled look, and eventually, Harry took pity, catching Ron’s eye and motioning subtly to him before pointing at the nearby chessboard.

Ron was perched on the edge of an ottoman with his chin resting in his hand, which was slowly tilting to the side as his eyes drifted shut. At Harry’s small wave, Ron’s face lit up, and he escaped from Luna’s father with his detailed explanation of exactly where one might find crumple-horned snorkacks. The Lovegoods had arrived earlier in the day and Ron had been put on guest duty.

“Good afternoon Professor,” Ron said cheerfully, making every Weasley in the room look over sharply. The only time any of the Weasley children ever spoke about Snape, ‘Professor’ was far down on the long list of things he was called.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Weasley,” Severus responded, his eyes lighting up when he spotted the chessboard Ron was carrying. “I suppose you would like a rematch?” he said hopefully.

“If you’re willing,” Ron answered, already setting the board up on a side table he had dragged over for the purpose. Snape nodded and sat forward, pulling Harry with him. Harry moved as soon as he felt a tug on his arm, absently resettling himself against Severus as he tried to remember exactly what the purpose of the test button on a hairdryer plug was for. He wasn’t confident he had ever known, and he rather wished that Hermione had been roped into this. He would have taken crumple-horned snorkacks had he been given a choice.

An hour later and Charlie had taken Arthur's spot after Molly had called her husband into the kitchen to help with extension charms. Harry was in the middle of discussing the temperament of a Welsh Green versus a Chinese fireball when an eruption of cheers dragged his attention over to the board, just in time to watch Ron’s face fill with dismay when his king threw down its crown.

Harry smiled for a moment, completely forgetting his conversation in favor of sending Ron a smug grin. “I’m starting to think you aren’t nearly as good at chess as you keep telling everyone, mate.”

Severus smiled in a predatory sort of way as his pieces reset themselves on the board, the look ruined somewhat by the faint flush that colored his cheeks at Harry’s words.

Charlie was looking at Snape with something close to wonder and eventually smiled widely. “You might just be my hero, Professor. I haven’t seen anyone beat Ron since before he started Hogwarts.” Harry felt an odd twist in his chest at the way Charlie was looking at Severus and shifted uncomfortably, bizarrely wanting to drag the other man away.

Severus flushed a darker shade and seemed more embarrassed than pleased as he sat back into the couch and settled comfortably against Harry.

Ron glowered good naturedly and looked as though he was getting ready to suggest another game when Molly shouted for him and Harry to come help. Severus turned to him in question, but he just shrugged his shoulders and stood, stretching his back out.

They spent the remainder of the afternoon in the kitchen chatting with whoever else Molly managed to catch and put to work. Hermione eventually joined them, rolling her eyes at Harry’s questioning look and muttering something about _Ginny_ and _ridiculous crushes_.

After the typical mayhem of Weasley Christmas Eve dinner, they found themselves back in the front room. Everyone had said their goodbyes to the Lovegoods before settling in with their drinks of choice. Harry cradled his cup of tea close to his chest in an effort not to spill it. He had learned over the past two months that even with practice, he tended to lose track of the angle of his tea when he had it in his off hand. Severus held a glass of fire whiskey balanced on his knee and had grudgingly splashed a small amount into Harry’s teacup when he held it out insistently.

The twins were crammed into an armchair that hadn’t been extended far enough to fit them both comfortably, but they seemed content, having brought a mysterious glowing blue liquid out and were in the process of convincing Ron to try it. Ron, for his part, was hunched protectively over his mug of hot chocolate and had flanked himself with a wall of presents.

Small conversations floated around the room, Severus caught up in the details of a recent curse breaking case that had been giving Bill trouble. Fleur and Hermione chatted softly by the fire, and Molly chided the twins about testing out new products on their siblings.

Harry found himself drifting, full of food and pleasantly warm from the whiskey and tight press of Severus and Charlie on either side of him. For the first time since Sirius had died, he felt like he was truly surrounded by family, and the contentment lulled him into a light doze.

He woke a while later, noting groggily that the room had mostly emptied. Severus pulled him up and guided him toward the stairs up to Charlie’s room, where they had been assigned for the night. Charlie was bunking with Ron instead, no one wanting to try and force Severus to share a room with anyone other than Harry, which he didn’t have much of a choice about.

They got changed silently and finished up in the bathroom across the hall, almost tripping over Ginny on their way out. She gave Harry a weirdly bright smile before darting around them and closing the door with a snap.

They climbed into bed, Harry noting that it was considerably smaller than Snape’s, but neither of them seemed to care enough to do anything about it. Harry wiggled around until he was comfortable, making Severus grumble before he buried his head under the soft quilts and fell asleep.

* * *

Piercingly bright sunlight woke him, having snuck through a small gap in the pale blue curtains. Severus blinked painfully and turned his head to the side with a groan. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to worry about how dark his room was in the morning. The only light in his bedroom typically came from his fire or candles.

He shifted slightly and froze, his whole body tensing at the feel of another person pressed tight to him. He pried open his eyes against the light only to find his view filled with tangled black hair.

To his complete mortification, sometime during the night, he must have rolled over and wrapped himself around Potter, pressing his chest the other man’s back. His right arm was looped around a warm waist, and one leg was tangled loosely with Harry’s. Snape breathed out quietly and moved slowly, trying to extract himself without waking the younger wizard, but when he pulled on his left arm, he found it stuck and very numb. Harry must have rolled toward him at some point in the night and now had his arm pinned under his side.

Severus flopped slowly onto his back and spent several minutes staring at the ceiling as he listened to the house coming awake, trying to delay what was sure to be an awkward start to his morning. In the months they had spent sleeping next to each other, they had managed to stick to their respective sides without any real issue. It was only recently that he had been waking up to find both of them in the center of the bed, snugged tight to either side of the bolster. He should have considered that before they went to sleep last night, but he’d had perhaps one more whiskey than was wise, and Harry had been so tired he was surprised he’d successfully made it to the bed.

Just as he shifted to wake Harry and accept the inevitable looks of horror, the bedroom door slammed open, crashing into the wall behind it and sending the mirror hanging there to the ground, pieces of glass spraying out. Without thinking, Severus grabbed Harry and heaved toward his side of the bed, furthest away from whoever was coming through the door.

He hadn’t counted on Harry waking up and having a similar reaction and shoving off hard from the bed, toward Severus.

They tumbled off the side of the bed, slamming into the floor in a tangle of limbs and blankets. Both had managed to grab their wands, but Harry was trapped under Severus and couldn’t get up to do anything but throw a quick shield around them. Severus was stuck on his side and managed to get his wand raised as he looked over the edge of the abandoned mattress for their attackers.

Cursing filled the room from the direction of the door. “Are you blokes, alright? I forgot I hung that mirror up.” Charlie’s voice called as he carefully entered the room, stepping over the shards of glass that littered the floor. “I forgot to grab Mum’s present, I hid it in my desk.”

Footsteps thundered down the stairs toward them, yelling coming closer as the whole Weasley household converged to see what had happened. Severus lowered his wand and dropped his head down to rest against the edge of the mattress, where he had the perfect view of a wild eyed Harry.

“What happened? Is everyone alright?” Granger’s voice came from the hall, followed seconds later by a murmured “reparo” as she cleared the glass from the floor.

“Yeah, we’re fine, but Charlie has exactly as long as it takes me to get up before I start hexing him,” Harry replied, a murderous look taking over his face.

Severus raised his head in time to see alarm cross the dragon tamer's face as he turned to flee, a small wrapped box clutched in his hand. Snape flicked his wand, hitting the redhead square in the back with a stinging hex. He got a yelp from Charlie and a snort of laughter from Harry before he collapsed back onto the tangle of Potter, pillow, and blanket. If this was a typical Weasley Christmas, he wasn’t sure he would survive it.

* * *

Hermione walked around the bed, Ron following sleepily behind in a bright orange Chudley Cannons shirt and a pair of worn flannel pyjama pants. He’d come into the room just after Charlie fled through the crowd of gathered redheads. Once she had seen that no one was in any actual danger, she had waved everyone off, sending the family trooping down toward the kitchen and the promise of Christmas presents.

Squished into the thin walkway between the bed and the wall, she found a confusing pile of her best friend, her professor, quilts, and all but one of the pillows that had been on the bed. Harry raised his hand in a lazy wave from half under the bed, looking like he wasn’t opposed to just going back to sleep where he was. Snape had buried his head under a pillow, from which she could almost make out a steady stream of muffled threats and expletives.

Ron leaned around and kicked Harry’s ankle with his bare foot, eliciting a questioning grunt. “Up mate, before mum comes up and gets you.” With his warning delivered, he shuffled out and could be heard thumping his way down the stairs.

“Are either of you hurt?” she asked.

Harry cracked open one eye and squinted at her, shaking his head no before he dug an elbow into the tangle of limbs beside him. Snape mumbled a negative before sitting up abruptly, night dark hair almost as wild as Harry’s and a scowl painted over his face.

Snape dragged himself up, towering over her and pulling a surprised Harry partway across the floor before he halted and glared down at the sprawled wizard. Harry made a small noise of complaint and held his arms straight up, wordlessly requesting assistance.

The only warning Harry got was a flash of malicious glee over Snape’s face before the floor under him was coated in slushy snow from the garden.

Hermione back away as her friend shrieked and came off the floor like he’d been summoned. She decided that retreat might be the better part of valor as she beat a hasty path to the hallway, closing the door on shouting and the sound of deep laughter.

She smiled as she made her way downstairs and was immediately roped in to help set up breakfast, along with anyone else that wandered through.

Twenty minutes later and the whole clan had gathered, most everyone looking like they had just rolled out of bed except for Harry and Snape. Since her best friend typically stayed in his pyjamas until the last possible moment, she could only assume he had been badgered into dressing. His worn out jeans and the loose holey t-shirt that she suspected belonged to either Ron or the twins stood out in silent protest against the tide of Snape’s neatness.

Snape had put on a button up and pressed trousers but had left his robes off, which seemed almost indecent to her. Hermione wasn’t sure why but seeing him without his trademark sweeping robes made him weirdly human, and she had a bright moment of insight as to how Harry had made such a quick turn around about him. Seeing someone without all of their self imposed barriers up did strange things to people.

Charlie was sitting beside George and looked like he was trying to sink into his chair at the glare Harry was leveling at him. Fred was busily chatting with Ginny about her charms homework while Ron single mindedly make his way through an enormous plate of eggs and bacon while his skin turned a vivid shade of neon green and tiny pink flowers sprouted from his hair.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the twins when she noticed a distinct blue glow about Ron’s teacup but remained silent after checking her cup. She watched a surprisingly unhappy expression cross Snape’s face before he carefully set his fork to the side and cast several revealing charms on both his and Harry’s coffee.

Molly bustled in with Arthur as Bill and Fleur came down the stairs, both looking rather flushed. They managed to finish breakfast with only a small outburst from Ron when leaves started falling onto his plate from his hair, the tiny meadow having grown and changed with rapid seasons. Otherwise, he seemed mostly unbothered by his new skin tone and just shrugged in a placid sort of way.

They all heard the front door open, and a few minutes later, a very tired looking Remus Lupin joined them at the table, gratefully taking a mug of coffee and a full plate from Molly. He smiled a greeting around the table, nodding to Harry.

They all eventually made their way into the front room and settled down with coffee or tea as the twins started passing around presents. A new pile had appeared near the front door, having been dropped off by owl that morning.

Hermione sat back and watched the family happily, her mound of presents creeping slowly higher. She glanced over at Harry in time to see him ruffled Ron’s hair and send a shower of pink petals all over the couch. Ron had seemed more comfortable with her when he wasn’t with Lavender. She wondered briefly if it would help to speak with her and let her know that she had no plans on poaching Ron. It had been lovely spending time with the boys the last two days. This term had been rather lonely for her, having spent the previous 5 years in almost constant company with both of them during the school year; only the first few months of first year had been more isolating.

Her train of thought was interrupted by Fred pulling a small muggle water gun from his pocket and squeezing the trigger, making a puff of smoke and a crack like a starter pistol come from it.

Snape jumped in alarm; only Harry’s hand clamping down on his arm kept him in his seat at the twin's particular way of declaring that everyone should start opening presents. The potions master glared at them before turning to give a confused look to the large stack of gifts sitting in front of him. Most were wrapped in some form of silver or green in festive acknowledgment of the lone Slytherin of the household.

He turned and said something quietly to Harry, who leaned closer to listen before giving him a very soft smile and nodding slightly to the gifts as he answered. Snape flushed a rather startling pink as Harry waved a hand to indicate everyone in the room and muttered something else before turning back to his small mountain of bright red and gold.

Hermione felt her heart squeeze a tiny bit at the look of baffled pleasure on Snape’s face as he reached hesitantly for the first box. He had obviously not expected anyone to get him anything, and suddenly she found herself fiercely glad that he and Harry had ended up bound, even if it was a bit of a mess.

Hermione turned her attention to her gifts, noting that the lovely new quill and stack of rare books Harry had gotten her bore both his and Snape’s name on the tag. A burst of laughter drew her attention to Ron, who was holding what looked to be a piece of jewelry and was looking like he wished he could be anywhere else.

Harry was laughing so hard he had fallen over onto Snape, and the twins looked like they had received the best Christmas present they could have imagined. Ron tried to stuff whatever the gift was underneath himself but lost it after a small tussle with Bill, who held it up for the rest of the family to see.

A glittering gold necklace stated clearly that the wearer was 'my sweetheart,' which sent everyone except for Molly into fits of laughter. Molly looked around disapprovingly and declared that it was delightful that a girl had gone to all the trouble of getting Ron such a nice present and reminded him that he should thank her when he got back to Hogwarts.

Ron had nodded numbly, shaking his head with resigned horror. Everyone eventually settled down, the rest of the present opening finishing up with only the usual minor hitches of booby trapped gifts from the twins and one disgusting box of live maggots sent to Harry from Kreacher. Luckily Snape had grabbed them while saying something about them being useful in the lab.

After gifts and more than a few rounds of both wizarding and muggle games, the afternoon had faded. Everyone was making their way through the enormous amount of food that Molly had set out when she asked Remus rather pointedly where Tonks was.

Lupin flushed and quickly mentioned that she hadn’t been able to make it this year, despite the invitation and that he was reasonably sure she was spending it with her family. For some reason, this made Molly frown at him. She was just opening her mouth when she froze, an expression of shocked happiness coming over her face.

“Arthur, look! Look, it’s Percy!” she cried, pointing out the window.

Chairs scrapped as everyone pushed back to lean around and look through the window. It was indeed Percy Weasley, with none other than the Minister of Magic walking up to the back door.

Molly hurried through the house and flung the door open, throwing herself into her son’s arms. Percy looked mortified and set her back at arm's length after a quick hug.

“I’m terribly sorry to disturb your Christmas, we were just in the neighborhood, and Percy mentioned how it would be nice to stop by and say a quick hello to his family. I do keep him for such long hours, and it is the holidays after all.” Scrimgeour said instead of an introduction, his smile deeply insincere.

“Oh well, of course, how kind of you, Minister. Would you like to come in? We have more than enough..” Molly trailed off as Scrimgeour shook his head.

“No, no, I wouldn’t want to impose, and we have a great deal to get back to. I’ll just leave you for a few minutes to catch up, shall I? Perhaps one of you wouldn’t mind showing me around your lovely garden?” the Minister said, his eyes falling on Harry. “Maybe you young man, you seem to be finished,” he said, making everyone at the table narrow their eyes at him, except for Molly, who was still busy fussing over Percy.

“Yeah, alright,” Harry said, an assessing look on his face. He stood, Snape, moving with him without complaint.

“Oh, I think just the boy will be enough of an escort, Professor Snape, is it?” Scrimgeour said, motioning for Snape to sit back down.

For the first time since they had arrived at the Burrow, Hermione saw Snape’s face fall into the cold mask she had gotten used to in years of potions.

“You will have to pardon me, Minister, but I’m afraid that Potter doesn’t go anywhere without me. I’m sure someone else would be more than happy to show you around if you were set on only inconveniencing one of us.” Snape’s voice had gained a dangerously silky quality that made the Minister give him a sharp look.

Scrimgeour frowned and leaned forward just as Harry carefully pulled their linked wrists back and hid them in the folds of his new Weasley jumper. Without a word, Bill stood and walked around, drawing the Minister’s attention.

“I’d be happy to show you around, Minister. Perhaps you could tell me a bit about Percy’s job. I’m afraid we haven’t gotten to speak with him much lately, and with my travels, I’ve no idea what he’s up to these days.” Bill said cheerfully as he guided the Minister outside.

Scrimgeour glanced back once, a frustrated look on his face as Bill towed him along. Harry and Snape sat back down, casually putting their wrists under the table and away from Percy’s view.

The trip around the garden was cut rather short, as the Minister returned after only a few minutes and collected an uncomfortable Percy from Molly. The rest of the family stood by silently as Molly said a tearful goodbye, and an irritated Minister apparated away with a sharp “Come now, Mr. Weasley.”

The rest of lunch was spent with Arthur gently patting Molly’s hand, and the table subdued.

Before Hermione knew it, everyone was waddling out to the front lawn, full of a Christmas feast and carrying bags of shrunken presents. After a full round of hugs, everyone began apparating away, Harry waving a jaunty goodbye before turning on his heel, his hand tangled easily in Snape’s. Hermione was just stepping over to follow them when a small hand landed on her arm. She turned to meet the worried eyes of Molly Weasley and immediately stepped back inside the wards.

“I’m sorry to delay you, dear, I know that Professor Snape and Harry are waiting so I won’t keep you, but I just wanted to know, do you think that the plan with the Malfoy boy is a good idea?” She asked very quietly, obviously not wanting to give any fuel to the anti-Malfoy campaign that her sons were running.

“Yes,” Hermione answered instantly. “I know he doesn’t have a good history, but I believe him. He’s just too desperate and too…” she trailed off, unable to quantify precisely what it had been that had so convinced her of his intentions.

“It’s alright, dear, you’ve spent more time with the boy, and I know how much you all have disagreed. If you think we can pull him out of the mess his father has got him into than I believe you,” the older woman reassured her, patting her briskly on the arm. “Well, you had best be going, we don’t want you upsetting Severus.”

Hermione leaned over and brushed a quick kiss across Molly’s cheek before she stepped away from the wards, making the woman blush and bat gently at her. “Happy Christmas, Mrs. Weasley,” she said as she turned and disappeared with a loud crack.

* * *

They got back to Hogwarts just after the feast was ending and passed a trickle of students on their way to the dungeons. When they got back and divested themselves of their bags, Harry had pulled out his gift for Severus, wrapped rather clumsily in blue and white paper, covered with snowmen.

Severus had given him a small set of very nice, very sharp knives of all different metals, much better than the ones in his current potions kit. Harry had complained more than a few times about his own after he had gotten used to using Severus’s set when he was helping in the lab. He had also gotten Harry a lovely leather wand holster that strapped to his arm, the kind that professional duellers and Aurors wore.

Harry was doubly glad that he had put some actual thought into Severus’ gift. During the last of the term, when he had been sending notes through the floo to Hermione, he had slipped a few in that had nothing to do with homework and instead centered around Christmas presents and potions texts.

With her help, he had managed to assemble a small box of exceedingly rare ingredients, several of which he had just asked Hermione not to tell him how much they had cost. He instead had written authorization for her to charge his Gringotts account as she saw fit.

His real victory had been finding a very rare potions text written in the early 1500s by a German wizard that many had regarded as a bit mad, but had just turned out to be ahead of his times. He didn’t pretend to have any idea what it was about, but the man’s great-granddaughter had parted with it happily enough for a generous sum and an autographed picture of Harry.

Harry had waited until they returned to Hogwarts to give them to him since he wasn’t sure how some of the ingredients would tolerate shrinking. Severus hadn’t seemed at all surprised when he didn’t find a gift from Harry at the Burrow, which made Harry that much more determined to make sure that he got him a good gift for his Birthday as well.

Severus took it, looking surprised but pleased.

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring it with us, I just didn’t know if it would travel well,” Harry explained.

Snape waved him off and sat down to carefully unwrap it. He pulled out the flat box of ingredients first, opening it and sorting through with a stunned look on his face.

“These are Egyptian mummy wrappings, how did you get these?” Severus asked, incredulous.

“Bill. Gringotts has had him down there curse breaking in the tombs for almost two years now. Don’t worry, it’s legal. They’re allowed to take some of the treasure as payment and try to sell it for more than they would typically get in wages. Bill grabbed some for me when I asked.” Harry explained.

Severus reverently put the small box to the side before he turned back to the larger gift box. Harry had put more than a few protective charms around the book, and Hermione had done him a favor and placed just about every preservation spell she could find on the delicate text, going to far as to recruit a rather excited Madam Pince.

Severus carefully lifted it out and set it on his lap, frowning when he saw the blank leather cover. He opened it and read the title before turning an alarming shade of white and immediately yanking his hands away.

“Why did you let me touch this? Do you have any idea what this is? You cannot handle a book like this without protection spells in place, even the oils on your hands can damage it.” He looked positively panicked as he held his hands awkwardly away from the book in his lap.

Harry relaxed as he realised what had set the man off. “Calm down, I wouldn’t have given it to you if it didn’t already have every preservation spell known to literature on it. Both Hermione and Madam Pince have gone over it.”

Severus’ shoulders slumped, all of the tension pouring out of him at Harry’s reassurance. His slender hands shook with a fine tremor as he opened the book, reading through the German easily.

“How did you get this?” he asked softly.

Harry shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with the strangely vulnerable look on Snape’s face. “His great-granddaughter is a fan,” he muttered. “She agreed to sell it to me if I sent her a personalized autograph along with the payment.”

Harry cringed, some part of him still expecting Snape to make a scathing comment about him and autographs. Instead, he felt Severus’ fingers wrap around his and squeeze.

“Thank you. I can only imagine that this did not come cheaply. It means a great deal that you would go to such lengths for me,” Snape said, his fingers curling around the book as if he expected Harry might decide to snatch it back.

Harry could feel a pleased blush rising in his cheeks and looked away as Severus gave a soft happy hum and settled back onto the sofa to read through his new treasure.

Boxing day was spent in their rooms, lazily sifting through Christmas gifts. Harry had spent the previous day watching happily as Severus opened gift after gift. He had even received his very first Weasley jumper, a plush black with a dark green S across the front. He had snorted at it when they got back to Hogwarts and put it to the side, but Harry had seen him gently stroking it later that evening.

Severus had planted himself rather firmly onto the floor in front of the scuffed coffee table, his new book spread out in front of him and a thick journal to the side where he was keeping a running litany of notes and comments. Harry could suddenly picture a much younger Snape scribbling in his sixth year potions book with the same focused determination, though the new book seemed to be receiving much less sarcasm.

Harry had summoned a small mountain of pillows and cushions and had stuffed them around them both before sprawling out on his stomach. A cooling cup of tea sat at his elbow, and the newest book in a muggle detective series was propped against Severus’ leg.

Hermione had as usual gotten him a small stack of books, but over the years, she had gotten much better at picking books he either enjoyed or would find useful. She had gotten him hooked on the muggle author two years prior and always seemed to be able to find the newest installment before he could.

She had also gotten him a muggle book on meditation after he had shared his frustrations about controlling his magic. He’d given it a distasteful look but had promised himself he would read at least a little of it each day.

They spent a pleasant day silently absorbed in their books, pausing only for snacks and the occasional cup of tea, supplied by Tippy. Neither bothered to get dressed, and by the time evening was coming around and the dungeons were getting chillier, Severus had rather furtively put on his Weasley jumper, a look daring Harry to say anything.

Harry finished his book just as Tippy popped in to ask if they would be taking dinner in their rooms. Severus waved his hand in dismissal, not answering, and Harry wasn’t entirely sure that his brain had fully processed the question or if he was just too caught up.

Harry gave her a quick smile and nod before turning to the meditation book.

He spent all of dinner reading through it and couldn’t find anything revolutionary. It pretty much just told him that he had to relax and isolate his focus, which was exactly what Severus had yelled at him in a much less flowery way.

Harry settled down and made himself comfortable, thinking that he might as well try some of the exercises since Severus didn’t look likely to move for anything short of a fire. He closed his eyes and tried to think only of his power, the familiar surge of it easy to find in his chest. He reached mental hands toward the edges of it, only to discover that it curled around and slipped through his grasp like water, just like every time he had tried to pull it back. Harry shifted, his frustration making him want to get up and pace, and dislodged Snape’s hand from where it had been resting on his leg.

Severus jerked slightly and drew in a startled breath, and quite suddenly, Harry was thrown back to the memory of the day they had gotten tied together. He could almost feel the sharp wrench of pain as Severus pulled and seized on the floor; he could hear the struggling breaths and the intense burn of magic flowing down his arm as he desperately tried to save them both.

Harry focused on the feeling his magic had given him, remembering how he had pressed it hard into a thinner part of the natural barrier that seemed to exist to stop witches and wizards leaking their magic everywhere. He could feel that same delicate area he had found months before and abruptly realised that it was located just under the bracelet. Instinctively he tried to reinforce the area, but the magic just seeped through like he was pushing jam through cheesecloth.

Harry could distantly feel his leg going numb from his awkward position and his fingers getting stiff with chill, but it was far away, almost like a memory. He mentally pressed around the weak area, feeling for edges but finding that the fragility tapered off rather than ending cleanly.

Frustrated, Harry unthinkingly created one of the adapted shields he had been playing with since he had started working around Snape level potions. He tugged it tight to his skin, feeling it wedge under the bracelet almost like a thick piece of wool and spread over the back of his hand and almost halfway up his arm.

A sensation like pressure changing in his ears made him shake his head. It felt almost like there had been some kind of low level noise that he hadn’t realised was there until it disappeared. Harry opened his eyes with a grin to find Severus still wholly engrossed in his book, not having noticed that his companion had been utterly still for at least an hour.

“Snape! I think I figured it out,” Harry said, shaking their linked arms. Onyx eyes blinked in confusion at him as the other man surfaced fully into awareness.

“What are you talking about Potter?” his voice was rough from having spent much of the last day in silence.

“Blocking the bracelet. I think I blocked it. Pull your magic back, and let's see.” Harry said excitedly.

Snape blinked in surprise but obligingly put his quill down and closed his eyes for a moment to concentrate. Harry felt the instant the bond went loose, his hand fell to his side, and there was no pull at all, unlike their previous attempts.

Harry leaped up with a whoop, almost immediately falling back down as his numb leg burst into painful pinpricks. He hopped in an awkward limping dance around the coffee table, Severus watching with amusement.

“What did you do? I can’t imagine that you managed to solve all of your magic control problems with a few hours of a muggle meditation book.” Snape asked, slowly climbing to his feet and stretching.

Harry waved dismissively. “No, it was pretty much useless. I just chucked the whole idea and put a shield up instead.”

Severus just blinked at him, confusion evident. “But that shouldn’t be possible. A shield is made of your magic. Putting your magic, in any form, against an artifact that operates off of your magic would not negate it.”

Harry shrugged. “I used one of the shields that I was playing with when I was trying to figure out how to contain that horrible dragons blood concoction you made.”

Snape got a thoughtful look on his face. “If I recall correctly, you were trying to layer a nullifying field over a fireproof shield. The fireproofing shouldn’t matter at all, but if you’ve managed to successfully create a shield with a buffer on it that will nullify magic, it should theoretically work with the bracelet.” Harry got a raised eyebrow and a small smile. “Well done Potter, despite years of evidence otherwise, you appear to have some actual grasp of magic.”

Harry pulled a face at him but was too happy with himself to take any real offense.

“Let’s see how far it’ll let us get apart,” Harry said, grabbing his robes and tossing them over the top of his pyjamas.

Snape sighed but snagged his robes and put them on over his Weasley jumper and track pants before slipping on his heavy black boots.

“Why is it that since you came around, I keep finding myself outside of my rooms in pyjamas?” the potions master asked mildly as they stepped into the dark corridor.

Harry shrugged again, glancing at the other man with a grin. They were walking side by side, close enough for shoulders to brush when he realised that they didn’t have to. Slightly giddy with freedom, Harry moved several steps to the left, leaving a large gap between them. Severus started to move with him absently before he stopped and smiled back in dawning realisation.

They broke and raced up the stairs toward the great hall, Harry laughing softly as Severus pulled ahead, taking the stairs three at a time. Once they reach the darkened hall, still twinkling softly with fairy lights that hadn’t been brought down yet, Severus kept walking to the far wall behind the high table while Harry leaned comfortably against the door jamb.

Harry began moving back the way they had come and started feeling a slight pull as he passed the grand staircase, ending up almost at the top of the stairs to the dungeon before his arm was pulled awkwardly behind him.

He made his way back into the great hall and ambled up to Severus.

“How far did you make it?”

“Just to the top of the stairs to the dungeon” he answered.

“That’s further than I thought it would allow us. That should make things considerably easier. We won’t be able to attend different classes, but we should be able to at least shower in peace,” Snape said with a pleased look.

Harry smiled back as they wandered back to their rooms, already dreaming of everything he would be free to do without a surly Professor attached to him. Maybe he could fly again. Or even tie his trainers.

* * *

They spent the few days before the start of the term buckling down and getting ready for classes. Severus had reluctantly put aside his Christmas gifts and started lesson plans, eventually roping Harry into helping him. He had to rewrite the entire curriculum since the Defense course had been changed so often, and he was thoroughly tired of it.

Their ability to separate had thrilled both of them, letting them have some much wished for privacy and allowing Harry to write and cast without having to involve a second person. Since they lost concentration and Harry’s shield refused to be anchored to anything, they still slept with their wrists connected, but as long as they were awake, they had a comfortable buffer available.

More often than not, though, Severus found himself falling in comfortably next to Harry, or sitting down beside him without thinking about it. Harry did the same, and he was loath to admit that it felt strange to not have the warm press of the other man against his side after his constant company. Neither of them said anything about it, but after the first day or so, the novelty seemed to wear off, and they stayed settled against each other most of the time.

The day before the term started, Harry’s Oculus potion was finally complete, Severus having finished the last adjustments for his particular prescription the week prior. Granger had come down to their rooms to spend time with Harry, something that surprisingly didn’t bother Severus, and so she was present for his first clear sight without glasses.

Harry had given him a nervous look but downed the potion when Severus motioned towards him impatiently. He blinked several times, his eyes watering before he yanked his glasses off and looked around, dumbfounded.

“Merlin's beard, I can see everything!” he exclaimed, his eyes an almost unnatural green now that they weren’t hidden behind bulky glasses.

“Mione, I don’t think my glasses were the right prescription,” he muttered, face shocked. “You have _freckles_!”

Granger blushed, making her faint freckles stand out more. “Oh, Harry, I had no idea about the potion!” she burst out, distress obvious.

He just smiled and shook his head. “I know, don’t worry about it. I really should have asked someone.”

Harry had spent the rest of the night studying the room in awe. Severus had run a quick spell on his glasses, only to find that they were less than half the strength they should have been. He had no idea how the man had ever managed to catch a snitch or even avoid semi-large objects.

They made it through the first few weeks of the term without incident, Harry watching everything in wonder and Draco looking more and more tense as they got closer to rescuing Narcissa.

Severus had come out of the bedroom on his birthday to find a stack of gifts waiting for him. His typical present of Highland Scotch from Minerva and a set of socks with steaming cauldrons on them from Dumbledore weren’t a surprise, though the last did send Harry off into a fit of laughter.

The presents from Granger, the Weasley’s, and Harry were all completely unexpected, though. Granger had gotten him a standard self dictating quill but had enhanced the charms to include words he used most often and changed the color of the ink to bright red.

The Weasley’s had given him an incredibly odd assortment of things, and it was only after Harry mentioned that they had likely all added something to the same box that it made sense. He assumed the pitch-black chess pieces that drawled sarcastic insults were from Ron, and the self guided sewing needles were from Molly. He was reasonably sure Arthur had given him an electric razor, which he put carefully to the side, uncertain if it had batteries and how it would react to the magic in the castle.

An assortment of quick getaway products from Weasley Wizard Wheezes was obviously from the twins. Even the two older boys had added something, a few dragon scales from a rare albino green welsh and a tiny glass vial of sand, labeled as having come from the bottom chamber of an ancient wizarding tomb.

Harry had gotten him a small selection of fancy coffee beans, apparently having heard his muttered complaints about the quality of coffee available for purchase in Hogsmeade. Under the assortment of fragrant packages was a long slender stirring rod, a handwritten tag declaring it to be made of highest grade moon quartz, something that Severus had always wanted. He had been stuck somewhere near the bottom of the waiting list for years after insulting the son of the only man who had access to the material and the skill to make them. He had no idea how Harry had known about it.

They had been late to Harry’s transfiguration class because Severus had simply sat on the couch staring at the pile of more birthday gifts than he had ever gotten in his life, all of them carefully selected and utterly perfect. He hadn’t known how to handle the overwhelming surge of emotion that had caught him and spent the remainder of the day snapping at everyone who wasn’t Harry. He did manage a polite thank you to both Granger and Weasley near the end of the day, promising Weasley a game with his new pieces soon.

As January drew to a close, they began getting more and more frequent coded owl messages. Harry was able to sit at the Gryffindor table now, but since most Order messages were labeled for both of them, he had taken to sitting with Severus for breakfast to spare the poor owls any confusion, and to make it less evident that they were getting joint post.

They managed to finish securing and setting up the safe house after the initial two locations had proven to be less secure than they needed. They ended up using a small isolated house on the ocean in Dover, surprisingly owned by the Potter estate. If had come into Harry’s possession on his 17th birthday, along with several other properties. Since he was the last surviving Potter and so many of his family members had died during the first war, he had inherited bits and pieces from all over.

Harry had pulled out a considerable scroll from Gringotts when the second safe house fell through and had spent the evening sitting in front of the fire and muttering with Granger. In the end, Harry went ahead and gave access to 3 houses over to the Order, in addition to Grimmauld place.

All they had left was for Draco to attempt to give his Mother warning, for which he would need a reason for Voldemort to call him to the manor. After several days of planning sessions, all spent huddled in the prefects bathroom, they had set up a series of what appeared to be nearly successful assassination attempts. Dumbledore had been tickled and willingly gone along with it.

* * *

Over the course of two weeks, the Headmaster was “poisoned” by a brew that mimicked an exceptionally deadly snake venom, only to be miraculously saved by Ron, armed with a bezoar. They had finally sat Ron down and informed him of what had been going on, having left him out of the planning previously due to both his history with Malfoy and his temper.

He had taken it rather well, all things considered, only bothering to call Malfoy an utter wanker once before everyone settled down. It appeared that even the infamous Weasley temper stood no chance against someone just trying to save their Mum. He had willingly helped with planning after that, his alarmingly tactically driven mind easing several of their plans considerably. Hermione found herself absurdly happy to have both of the boys back, especially amid all the stress.

Dumbledore had been “cursed” with a necklace, this time being saved at the last moment by Professor McGonagall, who had shaken her head at the gaudy thing before they put on their show in the entrance hall.

Finally, an actual magical snake, one with exceptionally potent venom, had been let loose in the Headmasters office. Dumbledore had been lucky that Harry just happened to be meeting with him and had prevented the snake from killing him. The small brown serpent had been only too happy to go along with whatever Harry wanted of him, so very excited to meet a speaker. It had been her idea to ask Hagrid if he knew anyone who could lend them a venomous snake, they had just gotten lucky when the overly friendly one had arrived.

Harry had charmed a small pillow to radiate heat, and the tiny snake had napped happily until it was time for Harry to carry him out of the office while loudly proclaiming that the snake had told him that someone with light hair had put it there.

The snake had obligingly twisted and hissed at passing students, making himself look very fierce all the way to Hargrids hut, where he promptly settled down into a box for his trip back to his owner and fell asleep curled up on the heated pillow that Harry had gifted him.

By the time Malfoy went home for the weekend, having been called to the manor suddenly, the entire castle was convinced that he had nearly killed Dumbledore, and only luck had saved the man. The Golden Trio had gone out of their way to start several small fights in the hallways, always conveniently far enough away from other members of the DA that they didn’t get involved.

Malfoy ended up in the hospital wing twice. Once was on purpose when they had planned for her to hit him with a nasty vomiting hex and once on accident when Ron had missed hitting Malfoy with a stunner and instead clipped Harry, sending him crashing into the Slytherin and breaking his wrist. Snape was just far enough away to have not seen the action but must have felt the sudden yank on the bracelet as he had come running down the corridor trying to get to Harry before the magic yanked them back together, regardless of whether there were people or walls in between.

Just before Malfoy had left, she had cornered him in the courtyard and started a yelling match, screaming abuse at the tall young man. Draco hadn’t had any idea what was going on since they hadn’t planned anything, but had gone along with it. Hermione had eventually whipped her wand out and hit him with an incarcerous. When she approached him to ostensibly gloat, she had carefully folded a small black button into his hand. She told him the activation word for the portkey under the guise of whispering abuse and that it would take two people directly to the safe house if everything went wrong.

She had been surprised when his hand had very gently squeezed hers in thanks, even as he screamed obscenities and threats. She’d fled the courtyard then, a knot of worry settling itself in her stomach just as Snape marched in, having given her just enough time to duck back into the castle.

She hated to admit it but she was a tiny bit concerned about the git.

What followed was one of the longest weekends of her life. She had tried to go see Harry and Snape in their rooms, but one look at Snape, hair was standing up from his fingers running through it and deep shadows under his eyes from having not slept well in days, and she had turned around. Harry had given her an apologetic look before he had gone to intercept Snape in his round the room pacing, having clearly settled the man onto the couch more than once if the mess of teacups and nervously crumbled biscuits were any indications.

She left her best friend to his damage control and walked the castle, restless. She had ended up on the Astronomy tower and stayed there for the evening and well into the night. Sometime after dinner, Dobby had appeared with a tray for her, Harry having known she likely wouldn’t go to dinner.

With an overwhelming feeling of gratitude for her closest friend, she wrapped warming spells around herself and settled in to watch the great Dragon constellation drift across the sky.

* * *

Malfoy arrived back at the castle late on Sunday, looking pale and tired but unharmed. He made sure to make a fuss in the front hall, shoving a seventh year Hufflepuff and starting a loud row to have his head of house called. Harry and Severus had walked down together, all the tension in Snape having fled as soon as the second year Ravenclaw had arrived at his office and told him that Malfoy had started a fight and one of the prefects had sent her to fetch Snape.

By the time they arrived, everything had been settled, McGonagall having beaten them there. She had seated Malfoy off to the side for Snape to deal with, and they collected him with a sharp motion from Severus.

Keeping up appearances for the gathered crowd, Malfoy spat on the floor at Severus’ feet and bit out a scornful hiss of “traitor,” his face twisted in a hateful sneer. Just for an instant, Harry saw a shocked look flash over the older man’s face before he hid it, and so he felt completely justified when he waved his wand and sent the ball of spit off the floor and directly onto the stretch of pristine robes over Malfoy’s chest.

“Looks like you dribbled a bit there, Ferret. Maybe keeping your mouth closed will help.” Harry said, a note of warning sliding through the bored tone of his voice.

Real rage flashed in Malfoy’s eyes before he suppressed it and sneered at him. They marched back to Snape’s office without another word, Malfoy’s back and shoulders stiff with anger.

As soon as Severus finished putting up a veritable wall of privacy wards, Malfoy spun on him.

“What the fuck Potter?” he yelled, the old anger making his face into a familiar mask.

“Just playing my part Malfoy,” Harry replied pleasantly, “but if you spit at him again, I’ll send it back down your fucking throat.”

The blond blinked in shock, clearly having expected Harry to have done it simply to be an arse. He didn’t seem to know what to do with a Harry Potter mad on behalf of his godfather.

Snape sighed before flicking his wand and cleaning Malfoy’s robes.

“Please play nicely, both of you.” His voice was filled with exhaustion, and Harry immediately felt bad for making him deal with anything else. However, as Severus moved around to take his seat behind his heavy desk, he brushed long fingers over Harry’s hand in silent gratitude.

“Were you able to warn her?” Severus asked as he settled slowly into his worn leather chair.

Malfoy perched on the edge of one of the stiff wooden chairs that were positioned for guests.

“Mostly. I wasn’t allowed to see her for long. Most of my time was spent going over plans to break into Hogwarts. You’ll be happy to know that while the Dark Lord isn’t pleased that I haven’t succeeded, he was surprised enough by my attempts that it’s bought me more time,” the younger Slytherin answered.

Now that Harry got a chance to look at him, Malfoy looked awful, like he hadn’t slept or eaten in days. His tall frame had lost some of the rigid pureblood posture, and the dark circles under his eyes rivaled the ones the Severus sported.

“I asked her to pick out an appropriate present for Pansy’s birthday for me and suggested she find something at the newest perfume shop in Diagon. She knew something was going on, but I couldn’t risk telling her anything further. She told me that she would go in two weeks,” Malfoy said, any residual anger having leaked from his voice.

“So, we have two weeks then. Draco, you know what this means,” Severus said quietly.

Malfoy nodded rapidly as his face drained of color, and he looked like he might be sick.

“Yes, I know. We can’t let them know that she’s still alive,” the blond said, looking down at the floor.

“We’ll start tonight. I’ll send Granger to collect you at your normal meeting place at midnight. Be ready,” Snape said, his voice suddenly brisk.

Malfoy nodded before turning and walking quickly out of the office, the sharp click of his boots echoing down the hallway and around the room. Harry slumped in his chair, wordlessly meeting a pair of black eyes filled with a resigned sort of misery.

With another sigh, he conjured up his Patronus and sent it to Hermione, with strict instructions for privacy before it spoke and their request for her to ferry Malfoy around with the invisibility cloak.

All they could do now was wait.

* * *

Hermione moved quickly toward the kitchens, her breath coming in quick pants as she hurried to her meeting with Malfoy. She wasn’t sure what had happened, but something was wrong. Even with the addition of the strange echo that a Patronus message had, she could tell from his tone that Harry was upset.

She made it to the broom cupboard and flung herself inside, something in her relaxing when she saw the lanky form perched on the stool she had made. The look of terror he barely managed to hide had her tensing up again.

She flung Harry’s cloak off and put her hand on his arm without thinking, “Are you alright? What happened?”

He jerked back like he’d been burned, yanking his arm away from her touch. “I’m fine, Granger, no need to grab at me.” His lip had lifted in a disgusted expression, and she was abruptly reminded that this man hated her for no other reason than the blood in her veins.

She backup up until her shoulders hit the door behind her. “Right, sorry, Malfoy, are you ready to go?” she said briskly, her jaw tight as she tried to create more space between them from sheer force of will.

He snorted slightly but shuffled to his feet and shifted so she could throw the cloak over him. They made their way silently up to the fifth floor, slipping into the bathroom without seeing anyone.

Hermione drew back as she looked around the room. It looked nothing like the prefects bathroom, the stained glass window, and the sunken tub the only indicators that she was in the right room. The open space in front of her was covered with cushions, and thick layers of muffling charms had been added to the room. A table stood against the wall where the benches had been, large knives gleaming on the surface, and rows of potions lined up along the back edge.

Both Harry and Snape stood in front of it, looking ill. Hermione felt her breathing speed up as a horrible thought occurred to her. Surely not. They couldn’t have been talking about torture.

Malfoy stepped away from her side and pulled off his robes without a word, hanging them carefully on a hook on the wall. His shirt and tie quickly followed until he was standing in front of them in just his trousers and boots, shaking with a fine tremor but a hard look on his face. The inky blackness of the Dark Mark on his pale forearm stood out like an accusation, the rest of his skin unmarred.

“You can’t…” she heard herself whisper, only to fall silent at Harry’s hard look. Her voice seemed to break whatever spell had been holding Snape frozen as he wordlessly motioned for Malfoy to stand in the middle of the cushions.

“I will begin by trying to break into your mind. Remember, you must show me what the Dark Lord expects to see, it will not work if you just block him out. He will know you’re hiding something, and eventually, he will break you, or he will kill you,” the older man said, his voice matter of fact.

Twenty minutes later, Malfoy was kneeling in the middle of the room, sweat pouring down his face, and his head cradled in his hands. Snape didn’t look much better, but some of the tension had left his shoulders. Despite his best efforts, he hadn’t been able to get past whatever inner Occlumency shields his godson had erected.

They both stood breathing harshly for several moments before Snape stepped forward, making Malfoy jerk his head up and meet his godfather's eyes with a terrified look. Snape visibly swallowed and raised a shaking wand “Cru..” he was halted abruptly by Harry’s hand wrapping around his, covering his grip on his wand.

“Don’t. Just don’t. You’ll need to try and get into his mind.” Harry looked sick but continued resolutely. “I’ll do it,” he finished, gently pushing Snape’s wand down.

So quickly she could almost have imagined it, she saw relief flash across the potion master’s face, followed immediately by guilt. She stepped forward to try and stop it, to stop everything because it was awful and it didn’t matter that Harry didn’t like Malfoy, her best friend wasn’t the kind of man that could just torture someone.

She froze at Harry’s sharp “Crucio” and the horrible raw screaming that came from the man at the other end of his wand.

What followed was something she knew she would have nightmares about for the rest of her life. She watched as her best friend threw curses so dark she was fairly certain that not even most Death Eaters knew. She watched as Malfoy was imperiused, cut open, fed truth serum and burning poisons. By the time they were done, she was seated numbly on the floor next to Malfoy, who Snape had mercifully knocked unconscious after forcing a battery of healing potions down his throat.

Blood was soaking into the bright white cushions, and her mind tangled up around how absurd it was that they hadn’t spelled them black. Black hid blood so much better. Then she wouldn’t have to look at it pooling in garish splashes across all of that white; would only have to smell the awful coppery bite in the air, tinged with sour sweat.

Before she realised what she was doing, she was scrambling for the huge tub and heaving into it. Quick footsteps followed her, and warm hands pulled her hair back, stroking soothing circles over her upper back as she emptied her stomach of everything she’d eaten.

Eventually, nothing else came up, and she knelt there, still gagging and coughing, and just stared blankly at the pile of sick in the bottom of the otherwise gleaming bath. A small cup of water was thrust into her hand, which she gratefully swished around her mouth and spit. Harry helped her back up, her legs shaking as she leaned heavily into her friend.

Snape was kneeling over his godson and running long fingers through his pale sweat soaked hair. He had vanished the blood and tucked a soft dark blue blanket tightly around the blond man. There was something fragile and pained in his dark eyes, and she abruptly realised why Harry had stopped him from casting, why Harry had been the one to pick up the knives and the poisons.

She felt a huge wave of guilt crash down on her as she saw the haunted look in Harry’s emerald eyes. She should have helped instead of just standing there. She shouldn’t have made Harry go through it alone. She knew why he had done it and what it must have cost him. He had cut pieces of his innocence off, let his soul blacken just a little in order to save Severus that pain. It would have hurt the older man so much worse to have to do it, to have to hurt a boy he considered his family.

She felt the first niggling suspicion, watching the gentle way Harry helped Snape up and ran a reassuring hand down the taller man’s back. She dismissed it quickly, not willing to dwell on impossibilities, no matter how likely they seemed for a moment.

She knew Harry would have done the same for her or the Weasley’s had they been put into such an awful position. She felt like crying when she watched how Harry refused to look at the table, still strewn with empty bottles and sharp metal, and some tiny part of her settled then, as she promised herself that for the rest of their lives if she could save him even the smallest bit of unhappiness, she would.

Snape waved his wand, and a groggy Malfoy slowly stirred. He sat up carefully, like he was expecting pain, but relaxed when he found nothing but a soft blanket. Grey eyes gazed warily at Harry before he gave him a small respectful nod.

Snape had to clear his throat several times before he finally spoke.

“You did well, Draco. I should think that the Dark Lord will likely not employ such extremes. The only thing I fear you need to work on is resisting veritaserum. While the potion I gave you helps, it does not neutralize it completely. You **must** remember to take it every twelve hours, and you need to practice lying with both in your system. I’m unsure if the Dark Lord will use veritaserum on you, simply because he will have a limited stock now that I am not brewing for him. He will likely ration it, but we must be prepared regardless.”

Malfoy just nodded, reaching out to take the two bottles that Snape handed him before climbing to his feet. He swayed slightly, the night had taken its toll on him. Hermione stepped forward and wrapped an arm around his waist, and instead of the complaint she half expected, he simply leaned heavily on her.

“I’ll get him back to the dorms. Neither of you can risk being seen with him. If someone sees me, they’ll just think I hexed him,” she said quietly.

Harry nodded and reached over to grab his invisibility cloak before tossing it over both of them. He held out Malfoy’s clothes for her take before he cast a quick muffling charm on them and held the door open like he was simply waiting on Snape and not letting two invisible people out.

The corridor was empty, as were the stairs. They stumbled past a suspicious looking Filch and made it to the Slytherin dorm entry just in time. Hermione could feel Malfoy getting heavier, and she was afraid she might need to levitate him shortly. She couldn’t let go of him to reach her wand, or else she would have already cast a featherweight charm on him.

“Malfoy, we’re here,” she hissed, shaking him lightly. She got a small grunt for her trouble and a sinking feeling that even if she got the door open, she couldn’t leave him. He’d likely just fall over in front of it and be found in the morning.

“Malfoy, the password damn it,” she said, slightly louder. He roused abruptly and mumbled “callidus” before slumping against her again.

The wall slid open, and they stumbled in. She turned toward the fire, fully intending on dumping him onto one of the plush leather sofas, only to see several of the Slytherin seventh years sprawled across them, sound asleep.

“Bloody hell,” she cursed, “Malfoy, which is your dorm? Come on, we’re almost there,” she begged, jiggling him slightly. She could feel the small tremors of overworked muscles in her arms and knew that she was going to have to set him down soon, or else they were both going to end up in a heap.

He muttered something but turned, and half fell, half stumbled down the nearest hallway, eventually coming to a dark wooden door, which they managed to get through by some miracle of Merlin and muggle physics. She spied the only bed with open curtains, of course at the far end of the long room. Her arms gave out just as she gave a final heave and got the surprisingly heavy Slytherin onto his bed.

He flopped feebly in an attempt to get in, but gave up, his legs hanging onto the floor. Luckily Hermione had two boys for best friends, one of which was almost a professional at collecting injuries and being too drugged up to get himself put away without help.

She waved her wand and cast silently, the cloak covering only her. She very much hoped that none of the other boys were looking out of the beds right now. Malfoy’s shoes and socks came off and neatly lined themselves up at the end of his bed, and she tossed his robe, shirt, and tie after them. She left his trousers alone, figuring that he had willingly stripped down that far earlier so he wouldn’t likely be too embarrassed.

Hermione floated him gently into his bed and tucked his green and silver striped comforter around him before closing his bed curtains and silently sneaking out of the Slytherin dorms.


	7. Chapter 7

_Hope was a word, just a glimmer of the blade_   
_Man, how it sang like on old serenade_

\- Gregory Isakov, Wings All in Black

They made their way back to their rooms in silence, neither able to find words to break the quiet tension. The castle held a particular darkness, Harry thought. It felt like all the shadows were a little deeper, that the whispers of the portraits held a hint of accusation.

Harry went straight to the bathroom when they arrived back, shutting and locking the door behind himself.

He felt numb, had felt numb since he had raised his wand and cast an unforgivable curse against a man he had been convinced that he hated. Watching Malfoy writhe on the floor, screaming until it sounded like his throat should bleed, Harry had realised that everything he had ever felt for the other man was nothing more than the petty childishness.

Malfoy’s position was just as awful as Harry’s, maybe more so now, and he hadn’t gotten years of practice getting used to life hurting him as Harry had. Several times that night, Harry had felt himself hesitate, felt his body seem to physically resist continuing. But one look into Malfoy’s grey eyes had firmed his resolve. Determination blazed out of them, even when they ran with tears, and he knew if he stopped that the blond would demand they keep going, and Severus would step in.

Fear, fear of having to stand aside and watch Severus cut open someone he loved was what finally convinced Harry to keep going.

He let his head fall back against the door with a soft thump. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the pool of blood spreading out across the bathroom floor, seeping from the deep slices Harry’s shaking hand had carved into his chest. It had looked almost fake, like a cheap muggle Halloween decoration, meant only to scare children, not the life of a man intent on saving his family.

Harry jerked his eyes open, flinging his wand out to start the shower with a snarl as guilt fueled rage spun through him, his motion violent enough to send all of their soaps crashing onto the shower floor.

He stripped down, almost tearing his shirt as he yanked it off and stumbling out of his trainers, shoving them away when he noticed a bright, accusing smear of scarlet on one. Harry stepped into the scalding hot water and grabbed a flannel to scrub himself, bare feet sliding across a smear of spilled soap on the slick floor.

Harry caught himself with a hand against the wall and leaned in to press his forehead to the cold tiles. The bathroom echoed with his harsh breathing, sounding exactly the same as Malfoy’s had in between his bouts of screaming. He could almost smell the stink of fear; he could see the twisted pain on the Slytherin’s face as he felt his insides being eaten by a potion Harry had to force down his throat when he was too delirious to take it willingly.

Abruptly Harry doubled over and threw up. His stomach cramped around nothing, making his torso ache but relaxing a sliver of his guilt like his body was giving him exactly what he deserved. He stayed bent over, his shoulder scraping against a jagged line of grout, watching the small bit of bile that had come up swirl down the drain.

He eventually pulled himself up and automatically continued washing, his mind far away and hazy. He knew distantly that he wasn’t handling this well, that he had to get ahold of himself before he saw Severus again, or he would undo at least some of what he had tried to spare the man.

A sharp knock on the door brought his attention up.

“I noticed you didn’t get clothes. I’ve brought you a few things. I’ll leave them on the counter.” Severus’ deep voice drifted through the steam, and a second later, he heard the door open and close again quickly.

Harry shut the water off and climbed out, toweling himself roughly. It was only when he glanced at the towel he’d dropped on the floor that he saw the streaks of vivid red and noticed that he had scrubbed the skin on his arms raw. Sluggish trails of blood dripped down his wrist, deeper scratches from his blunt nails seeping thin beaded lines of ruby.

“Shit,” he whispered, the sight of the damaged skin bringing him crashing back into himself. He pulled open the cabinet and found one of the healing salves that Severus kept there. He quickly smeared it over his arms and a small raw patch on his hip, the warm tingling of it almost as soothing as the smell of bay and aloe that it gave off.

He dressed hurriedly in the clothes that Severus had left for him, casting a fast cleaning spell on the towel and his trainers before he left the bathroom.

The bedroom was empty, a pile of black robes left where Severus had changed, and the book he had been reading the night before balanced on the edge of the nightstand. Harry walked past their bed slowly, not feeling ready to face the other man just yet, but he knew that if he didn’t, it would make it worse.

He could smell the distinct scent of his favorite tea wafting in from the front room and so braced himself with a slow breath and walked out.

Severus was sitting on the couch, his back to Harry, the thin blue t-shirt he only wore to bed when he needed extra comfort molding to the scars on his back. He turned when he heard the scuff of Harry’s foot on the rug, and Harry froze.

His dark eyes were red and puffy; misery etched itself into the harsh angles of his face, making him look older than he was. His hair was a tangled mess that only happened when he twisted his fingers in it in stress. Seeing Severus Snape, a man who would have sneered at a life threatening injury, who never let anything but anger get the better of him, seeing that man fall apart broke something in him.

Harry could feel something awful clawing in his chest at the sight and, just for an instant, wished that he hadn’t taken the Oculus potion if only to dull the horrible clarity of this moment a little.

Harry’s back slowly curved, collapsing his body around the monster tearing its way through him. He had tried so hard to mitigate this, to spare the other man as much of this as he could, but maybe he hadn’t done enough. He should have told Severus to leave, should have asked Dumbledore to test Malfoy’s mental wards, should never have let him see it, to have to live with it.

Harry blinked, trying to figure out how he had ended up on his knees, his breathing shallow and pained.

“Harry?!” Severus’ panicked voice came from across the room, making his head swim. “What happened, are you alright?”

Harry could feel laughter bubbling in his throat at the question. He remembered when he had landed outside the maze in fourth year, fingers clutched so tightly into the arm of Cedric’s shirt that they’d had to pry him loose before they could move either of them. They’d asked him if he was alright then too. He’d laughed then, just a small high pitched giggle that had sounded so unlike him that it had taken him days to realise that the person laughing in his memory was himself.

He swallowed hard, never wanting to hear that sound again. It haunted him almost as much as the high pitched voice that had commanded Wormtail to kill the spare.

The grasp of warm hands pulling him upright jarred him back to the present. Severus was kneeling in front of him, looking frantic and shaking him. He only stopped when he saw that Harry had finally focused on him.

“Harry, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Harry blinked in confusion at the older man, Snape’s face twisted up with horror and guilt. Strands of his long dark hair were stuck to dried tear tracks on his face, and up close, he looked even worse, the blackness of his iris highlighting the irritated veins in the whites of his eyes.

“What?” Harry asked faintly, thrown at the lack of accusation in the other man’s voice.

“I should never have allowed you to do that. I should never have stood aside while you took on a task that I should have dealt with. I shouldn’t have even allowed you or Granger to stay in the room.” Snape was almost panting as the words spilled out, dark eyes blown wide with panic.

“I was a coward to let you hurt Draco in my place to make you hurt him because I wasn’t strong enough to.” Fresh tears leaked down Severus’ cheeks as his long fingers dug into Harry’s upper arms as if he could sink his apology in deep enough to make a difference if he just clutched Harry tightly enough.

It took Harry’s overwhelmed brain several minutes to process what was happening, but when he did, he felt the creature clawing through his chest wither and die. He didn’t know what to do with this man kneeling in front of him, begging with an apology for something that Harry would have done a thousand times had it been necessary.

This man was so far removed from the hateful potions master that Harry had known for so many years that he barely resembled the same person, which was why it didn’t feel strange at all when Harry leaned forward and wrapped his arms around him. It felt right. It felt like holding family. It felt like coming home.

* * *

Severus stilled, his breath catching in his throat at the warm clasp of Harry’s arms. His mind had gone blank, the morass of guilt ridden thoughts falling away at the feeling of the younger man holding him close. He knew he should back away, that this man of all people should never want to comfort him, to touch him. He couldn’t seem to make himself leave though, just as he’d been too weak to stop Harry earlier, even when he had seen the pain in his green eyes.

Without his permission, his arms came up to carefully slide around Harry’s shoulders, pulling him in tighter.

They sat like that for a long time, neither saying anything, but not needing to. Harry eventually released him just long enough to pull him to his feet and walk them slowly to bed.

Harry waved the lights off and banked the fire, all without his wand, which had been forgotten on the bathroom counter where he had flung it. In the flickering darkness of their room, Harry crawled over and pulled himself around Severus without any hesitation.

Severus looked down at the mess of black hair tucked tightly under his chin, a small tremor running through him. His hands brushed over Harry’s back and settled, spreading over the knotted muscles in his back and shoulders.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for. You know that, right?” Harry mumbled into his chest.

Severus felt his chest tighten. “I could hear you throwing up. I know the smell of my healing potions. I have a great deal to be sorry for.”

Harry pulled back slightly, not letting go of him but leaning far enough to try and make out his face in the dark.

“Just because I didn’t enjoy what I had to do doesn’t make it your fault. And I scratched myself by accident is all.”

Severus made a small noise of disbelief. He could just make out the glare that was aimed at him.

“If it had been Hermione in Draco’s place, would you have let me be the one to do what had to be done?” Harry asked softly, honest curiosity softening his voice.

Severus felt his stomach roll at the thought of what it would do to Harry; to have to point his wand at the woman who was his sister in all but blood would kill something in him.

“No,” Severus breathed. “Of course not.”

“Then why should it be any different? Would you let me blame myself for not hurting her? Let me call myself a coward for not fighting for the chance to hurt my family?” his voice was harder, surer of itself than it had been since that afternoon.

“It’s my place to protect you, what good am I if I’m too much of a coward to do even that?!” Severus pushed himself away, his breathing as sharp as the sudden spike of anger and fear.

The same thought had been spinning through his head all night, and it had gotten so much louder when Harry had locked himself in the bathroom. Severus had stood in the bedroom, listening to the other man fall apart and not knowing how to fix it.

He curled himself up on the edge of the bed, knowing that he would have to move closer to Harry again before they fell asleep but needing the space for now.

“Who told you it was your job to protect me?” Harry’s voice came from the far side of the bed, respecting Severus’ need for distance but not letting the argument go.

“Albus. Albus made me promise,” he whispered it, not knowing why he was telling him at all. It was dangerously close to other truths, ones that would drive Harry from him.

“When?” came the choked question.

There was a long pause before Severus answered, the only sound in the room the soft crackle of the fire and the slow shift of burning logs.

“Just after your parents died. When he knew that the Dark Lord wasn’t truly gone.” He couldn’t seem to stop himself, and he wondered idly if this was going to be it, the night he lost everything good that had come into his life. He had expected it, of course. He had known that it was just a fluke, to have been included in the Weasley family almost like he belonged, to have a small group of oddly faithful Gryffindors sending him birthday gifts, to have Harry.

“He had no right to ask that of you. No wonder you always got so mad at me when I did something that nearly got me killed.”

A small snort of laughter escaped Severus before he could stop it. “I think you might have given me a mild anxiety disorder.”

Soft laughter came from the other side of the bed, and Severus felt himself relaxing from the tight ball he had rolled into.

“Are you ready to come back over here and discuss this with me like the completely irrational adults we are?” Harry asked, laughter lingering in his voice.

He hesitated for a moment before deciding that he didn’t feel the overwhelming need for distance still. He rolled slowly back to the middle of the bed, meeting Harry there. They settled onto their pillows facing each other, their breath mingling in the space between.

“I’m sorry that he asked that of you. It’s not your job to protect me any more than its mine to protect you.” Severus made a small noise of disagreement at Harry’s words but didn’t interrupt when he continued.

“I did what I did tonight because I couldn’t stand the thought of you having to hurt someone you love, just like you would have done for me. I hated it, every second of it, and I’m not handling it well,” Harry said bluntly, making that voice in Severus’ head scream louder.

“But it would have been so much worse if I had to stand there and watch you do it. I picked the lesser of two evils. It’s not my _job_ to protect the people that I care for, but it is my _choice_ to do so. You don’t get to decide that for me or carry the guilt for my decisions,” Harry finished.

Severus felt like his heart had stopped. A little of the crushing guilt he had felt all night started to trickle away and something almost frantic took its place. Harry cared for him. Of course, he knew that you didn’t spend weeks hunting down the perfect gifts or learning what the other person ate or, for Merlin’s sake, torture someone for a person you don’t care for, but it was the first time it was acknowledged out loud, and it made him feel a tiny bit crazy like he would do anything to keep his standing in Harry’s life.

Severus took several deep breaths before reaching hesitant, shaking hands out for the man in front of him. Harry willingly curled back into his chest, strong arms wrapping close around his waist.

“Thank you. Thank you for doing something horrible, so I wouldn’t have to, for doing what had to be done to keep Draco safe.” Severus whispered into the top of Harry’s head, the warm scent of cinnamon from his shampoo surrounding him.

Harry’s arms tightened, and he felt him jerk, just a little bit. It took Severus a few seconds to realise that Harry was crying, stifling his sobs in the older man’s chest.

Severus just held him tighter, realising that he must have held off his breakdown to deal with Severus’. He stroked gentle circles over Harry’s back and ran soothing fingers through his hair, trying to remember the few times his mother had tried to comfort him. He had no other baseline, and he desperately wanted to be able to offer Harry something.

Eventually, Harry fell silent, and it took Severus some time to understand that he had dropped into an exhausted sleep. He let himself relax and tucked Harry closer before his thoughts finally stilled, and he drifted off.

* * *

The two weeks leading up to the rescue seemed both interminably long and gone far too quickly.

Hermione spent the time trying to find any possible risks she had missed. She spent most nights awake in her dorm, curtains closed tightly against the soft globes of conjured light. Years before, she had perfected a spell that allowed her to pin notes all around the interior of her bed hangings, something Harry said made her look like a muggle serial killer, but she found it comforting to surround herself with everything that was circling in her head.

As the weekend drew closer, she found herself spending more time researching in the library, having brought out newspaper clippings from the first war to look over potential patterns or habits in the way that Death Eaters attacked.

Most nights, she snuck in after curfew and hid in the back corner, her research spread out around her and a small lamp glowing softly. The large table she claimed sat in a far back corner, tucked in between shelves that held books on Goblin history and an odd assortment of what appeared to be cookbooks from several centuries past. The wind rattled the glass of the bay window that faced the chill darkness of the Black Lake and swept cold fingers into the warmth of the stacks.

The first night that Malfoy had found her there, she almost hexed him before she realised who it was. She considered hexing him anyway just on general principle. Instead, she had waved him over, letting him sit across from her and, in as few words as possible, explained what she was doing.

He stayed there with her until almost dawn, and by the time they both slipped out into the silent halls, her notes with potential connections and individual Death Eater habits were considerably larger than she would have managed alone.

After that night, Malfoy joined her most evenings. They usually only spoke a few words, and he always handed over whatever he had managed to compile just before he disappeared back to the dungeons.

The night before the group was to leave for Grimmauld place and wrap up the last parts of their strategy, Hermione planned on staying in her dorm. There was nothing more for her to work on, and it would be far better for her to manage a decent night's sleep. Even Ron, who had all the observational ability of a blind newt, had begun commenting on the bags under her eyes.

So she was surprised to find herself tracing her typical path down to the library, wrapped in several extra layers and Harry’s cloak. It had been unusually cold in the last week, enough so that she had taken to wearing fingerless gloves almost everywhere. Harry had found an old hat of Ron’s to wear out to Herbology and Potions since the dungeon classroom seemed to be resistant to warming charms. She was completely sure that if he could have managed it, Snape would have put a warming charm over the entire school if only to have a reason to throw the awful knobby brown hat away.

She shuffled into the library and had just gotten to her regular table when she realised she’d forgotten her bag entirely. With a heavy sigh, she turned back toward the doors, thinking that she really would just stay in her bed this time.

She’d only taken a few steps when Malfoy appeared out of the darkness and crashed into her. He yelped, jumping back and brandishing his wand in her general direction.

“Granger?” he hissed, pale eyes narrow.

“Who else would it be? Are you meeting more than one invisible person around the castle?” she said quietly, flipping the hood of the cloak off.

She couldn’t tell in the dark, but from the tilt of his head, she assumed he was glaring at her.

“Where are you going anyway? Not planning on going over every single detail of the cobblestones in Knockturn Alley tonight?” his voice held an edge of mocking.

“As a matter of fact, I was planning on going to bed. Goodnight, Malfoy.” She moved to sweep past him, not at all appreciating his tone since she’d only been missing so much sleep and working so hard because of him.

His hand snapped out just as she was passing him, correctly gauging where her arm was under the cloak and wrapping long fingers around it.

She paused, waiting long moments for him to speak.

“I’m sorry. I know how hard you’ve worked to save her. I did not mean to sound ungrateful.” The words came out a bit choked but loud enough for her to hear.

She just nodded without looking at him. His grip on her arm went loose, and she was just moving to leave when she caught his expression from the corner of her eye. Faint moonlight glinted in through the window and created shadows across the sharp lines of his face, drawn into a naked expression of fear.

“I’m going to the astronomy tower. I don’t think I can sleep tonight, and I can’t sit in the library right now, either.” She said it quickly, not knowing where the idea came from but feeling the tightness in her neck relax at the thought of spending time outside.

“I could use some company if you’re not planning on staying here and going over the cobblestones of course” her voice had a gentle edge to it, just shy of teasing.

He snorted but turned without a word and tucked the cloak she held out over himself.

They made their way through the quiet halls, only a few torches left flickering to show the way. The portraits were all sleeping, and the cold of the castle was keeping any young would be adventurers in their dorms.

The Astronomy tower was bitingly cold, but the air was thankfully still. The moon was a thin sliver, barely outshining the brilliance of the stars, and the massive stones that made up the balcony held a thin sheen of ice.

Malfoy ducked out from under the cloak and strode to the waist high wall that guarded the edge. His boots moved over the top of the ice neatly, never sliding, and the cold starlight washed his already pale hair out to an icy silver.

Hermione paused at the sight of him, leaning against the wall, head thrown back to gaze at the night sky. He looked like he belonged here, in this frigid place, halfway to the stars. His black robe blended into the night, his pale skin and silver of his hair a shining relief against the darkness, the sharpness of his features just as cutting and remote as the cold lights above. He looked like a fey creature, something beautiful and dangerous.

“My mother used to bring me out on nights like this when it was cold and clear enough that you could see everything in the sky” his soft tenor broke her free of her strange musings.

Hermione moved carefully up to his side, barely keeping her feet. Her trainers didn’t have whatever anti-slip spells his boots did, and she was fairly certain if she fell, he would just laugh and leave her to struggle upright on her own.

“Does she like Astronomy then?” she asked.

Hermione got a raised eyebrow that looked far too reminiscent of Snape for her comfort.

“If you hadn’t noticed, most of my Mother’s family are named for constellations.”

“Yes, I had actually. I’ve seen the Black family tree, I know the tradition,” Hermione responded rather sharply.

“Have you now? I suppose you would have access to it now that Potter owns one of my family's ancestral homes. I’m sure Great Aunt Walburga adores you.” a small smile curled his lips.

Perhaps it was the stress of the last several weeks, maybe it was that she had seen more sides of Malfoy than she could have guessed existed in a very short amount of time, or perhaps it was just a general lack of sleep, but his words struck Hermione as absolutely hilarious.

She burst out laughing, her gloved hands flying up to muffle the noise.

“Oh, Merlin, you have no idea how much she hates me!” she got out between undignified giggles. “Sirius wanted to experiment and see if a portrait could have a stroke. He kept having me drink tea from her favorite china.”

Here she lost it and couldn’t manage to keep her feet. Hermione slipped slightly and let gravity carry her down until she was leaning with her back against the wall, still giggling.

A body dropped down next to her, and it took her a moment to realise that Malfoy was laughing quietly.

“I think I would have liked to have seen that. Mother always said she was a terrible old bat. I think I only met her once or twice when I was a child. All I can remember is yelling and that she smelled overwhelmingly of sandalwood. I still despise sandalwood.”

Her giggles eventually tapered off, and they sat in surprisingly comfortable silence. Finally, the cold of the stones started seeping into her, and she shivered, getting ready to get up and head back to her dorm.

“Here,” Malfoy said, pulling his wand out and spinning it with a fast flick of his wrist. A soft warmth started radiating up from the ground around them, melting and steaming the thin layer of ice.

She gave him an appreciative smile and settled back down, tilting her head back to look at the sky. A graceful hand moved into her line of sight and traced lines between the stars.

“That’s Ursa Major,” Malfoy said, ignoring the fact that she most certainly knew the constellations since she had taken Astronomy with him. She kept silent, letting him carefully trace each of the major shapes for her, adding in bits and pieces about his family members that were named for them.

“And that’s Draco... my Mother used to tell me that it shone the brightest to her.” the last was said in a whisper before his hand dropped limply into his lap.

Slowly, so he would have time to pull away, she reached over and wrapped her small hand around his much larger one. His was freezing cold and trembled slightly.

“We’ll get her out safely. I promise,” she said.

He jerked his hand sharply away, anger crashing over his expression. “And how can you promise that? How do you know?”

She gave him a look of mild rebuke. “Harry’s going to be there, and so is Snape. Have you ever in all of our years known Harry to give up on what he was trying to do?”

He relaxed somewhat at this, having been on the losing side of Harry’s determination one too many times.

“Besides, do you really think Snape would let anything go wrong?” she pointed out reasonably.

“No, I don’t suppose so. But there are always accidents. I just wish I could be there.” The anger had left his voice, nothing but a tired worry in its place.

She didn’t try to reach for him again, not wanting to infringe on his space when she’d already been rebuffed.

“I can understand that, but try to trust that we do know what we’re doing. You’ve seen enough of the safety precautions, you know we’ve done everything we can to keep her safe.” Hermione finished, hoping to ease a little of his worry. She knew that she would be a complete mess if their positions were reversed.

They were silent for a long time, the stars progressing above them as the warming charm slowly weakened until they were both shivering. Malfoy was the first to move, pulling himself stiffly to his feet and after a seconds hesitation, turning to offer Hermione his hand.

She gave him a mildly suspicious look before taking it and letting him draw her to her feet. She held out the invisibility cloak silently, letting him tuck himself close to her side. The set off down the tower steps, which had only a few torches left burning, creating more shadows than they abolished.

They made it down without breaking their necks and set off toward the stairs. When they reached the seventh floor, instead of heading to the dungeons, Malfoy steered her to the portrait of the fat lady. She gave him a puzzled look, having intended to help him sneak back to his common room.

“I can make it just fine on my own, Granger. Besides, you look like you’re about to fall asleep, and the last thing I need is Potter trying to murder me for letting you fall down the stairs,” he said gruffly, but his hands were gentle when he turned her toward the entrance to the common room.

“Just let me know what happens. Please?” The last was uttered with a pained rawness.

She frowned slightly and snagged his arm as he started to leave.

“Wait here for a second. I have an idea.” Hermione turned and prodded the fat lady, giving the disgruntled portrait the password before she could start lecturing. She flew up the stairs to her dorm and sorted quickly through the trunk at the base of her bed, her illuminated wand held between her teeth.

She came up a moment later with two identical muggle notebooks held in her hand. Her dad tended to buy her a whole pile of them before she left for each term, knowing how many notes she took.

She hurried back down the stairs and out of the portrait hole, finding Malfoy tucked up against the wall and waiting for her.

“Here, I think this should work.” She brought out her wand and cast several fast charms on both notebooks, the final one being a locking spell that would burn the notebook if someone tried to break into it, the same one she kept on all her notes for the Order.

“It’s a spell I use in case I want to put notes into one of my notebooks, but I don’t have it with me. It just mirrors each other, so whatever you write in yours will show up in mine and vice versa. I can tell you what happens as soon as I know.” She finished happily, proud that she had found another use for her small charm.

“Thank you,” it was said so quietly that for a second she thought she had imagined it, but the look of gratitude in the Slytherins face when he took the notebook from her convinced her that she hadn’t misheard.

“You’re welcome. Try to get some sleep. I’ll keep you updated… Goodnight, Malfoy,” she gave him a small smile before she ducked back into her common room. Just as the portrait swung shut, she heard a whispered “Goodnight Granger.”

* * *

They arrived at Grimmauld place late Friday night, apparating into the back garden, still wet with dingy piles of grey melting snow. Harry pulled Severus out of the way as Hermione apparated in behind them, landing a few lengths from where they had appeared. The air was tinged with exhaust and a scent that was somehow uniquely London. It was warmer there than in the Highlands, and a light rain drizzled around them.

They hurried into the house, ducking quickly through the french doors and into the kitchen. The huge battered table held several of the Weasley’s and Tonks, looking tired but cheerful.

“Wotcher Harry?” she said as they divested themselves of their damp layers. Severus gave Harry’s hat a contemplative look, and Harry quickly tucked it into his back pocket, having discovered the other man’s fervent hatred of it when Severus had tried to nonchalantly knock it into the fire.

“Hey Tonks, how’s Auror business then?” Harry asked as he settled onto the bench across from her and reached out to pour himself some tea. He frowned when he discovered the pot was empty and was getting up to start a new batch when Severus took it from him, pushing his gently back into his seat.

Harry shot him a quick smile of thanks and turned back to Tonks. Her eyebrows raised and did a crazed little wiggle as she pointedly looked between the two of them. Harry started to clear his throat, uncomfortable when Hermione sat beside Tonks and murmured something too quietly for him to hear. Her face cleared, but something devilish took it over, and she spun back toward Severus, a glint that promised nothing good in her eyes.

Hermione very calmly raised her wand and flicked it, sealing Tonks’ mouth shut.

“Don’t. I will keep this in place all night if I need to,” Hermione said, accepting the cup of tea a confused Severus handed to her.

“I’ve no idea what you’ve done to incur her wrath Nymphadora, but I would listen to her. She’s not been in a particularly forgiving mood of late.” Severus said genially, both of them having watched her lose her temper with Ron several days before, leaving him stuck to the wall outside the transfiguration classroom.

Tonks nodded rapidly, holding up her hands in surrender to Hermione. The bushy haired witch flicked her wand again but kept a suspicious eye on her as her mouth was released. Tonks just sighed and shook her head.

“No fun, kids these days,” she muttered but took her tea without further complaint.

Severus grunted but sat down next to Harry, sipping his tea and looking through a small notebook he had pulled from inside his robes.

The quidditch discussion from the Weasley end of the table was interrupted by Kingsley and Arthur coming in through the kitchen door, having flooed in from the ministry.

“Well, we’ve got the shops on either side of the jewelry store closed down for the weekend. Cursed object was found, and the area got cleared. Won’t be able to get a curse breaker in until Monday.” Arthur said, pleased.

“Convenient that,” Fred said, raising his glass of firewhiskey to his father.

“We’re all set, then?” Harry asked, leaning forward to see around Bill.

“As set as we’re going to get. Is everyone ready here? Tomorrow is likely to be a long day. We have no idea when she’ll show. Hopefully, it will be tomorrow and not Sunday.” Kingsley answered.

Hermione broke in “Malfoy said she almost always goes shopping on Saturday’s. She isn’t likely to change that since she knows something is going on, and he wants her there.”

Kingsley nodded seriously. “We’ll be out and set up before the first shops open. I know he told us afternoon was more likely, but we don’t want to miss her.”

“Right, since we’re all up early, I’d say try and turn in soon everyone. Molly will be here in the morning to send everyone off,” Arthur added.

Everyone nodded in acknowledgment before people started drifting off. Harry finished his tea and got up with Severus, calling his goodnights to everyone as they trudged up the stairs. Harry hadn’t been able to make himself go into Sirius’ room since he had died, and he wasn’t about to ask Severus to sleep there. Instead, they claimed a small, mostly empty bedroom on the second floor, the sheets having been recently changed and a small bathroom directly across the hall.

They settled in after changing into the pyjamas Severus had shrunk and put into his pockets.

“Do you think it’ll go alright tomorrow?” Harry asked once they had arranged themselves comfortably. Neither had bothered to suggest trying to find an extra pillow to put between them. They hadn’t slept with the bolster in their bed since that night when Harry had woken wrapped up in Severus.

“Ms. Granger has planned everything to the extent that I believe even the Auror force would be strained to meet. I think that even if it does not go well, we have enough in place to fix it quickly.” Severus answered from the dark beside him.

Harry made a noncommittal noise, stretching himself into a more comfortable position and dropped his shield as his wrist came into contact with Severus’. They joined with a soft click, and before he knew it, Harry had drifted off.

* * *

Morning came too quickly, the buzzing alarm of Severus’ wand waking him from a dead sleep. A noise of complaint, followed by an arm flailing into the side of his face, convinced him to grope around under the pillows to try and locate where the other man’s wand had gotten off to.

Harry pulled out the length of wood rather triumphantly and without thinking flicked it while muttering the charm to shut it off. It obeyed readily, silencing itself. Severus stopped trying to locate it ineffectively and buried his head back under the pillows.

Harry was halfway back to sleep, Severus’ wand clutched to his chest, when the other man jolted upright, bringing him back awake with a small snort.

“Did you turn off the alarm?” his voice was rough and scratchy, so low it sounded like he had spent years smoking.

“Umm? Oh yeah, here” Harry held out the wand sleepily, curling himself back into the warmth of the covers, bringing Severus’ arm with him since he hadn’t yet put his shield up.

“Potter get up,” the sharp tone made him sit up in alarm.

“What? What’s the matter?” the cold bit into Harry’s previously warm torso, and he shivered, trying feebly to pull the covers up around himself again.

“You cast with my wand,” Severus said, his voice tight.

“I’m sorry? I didn’t think about it, just was trying to turn the alarm off,” Harry answered, not wanting to have an argument this early in the morning.

“Merlin Harry, I don’t care that you used it, I care that you _can_” he sounded troubled and confused. “We’ll need to look into this further. Typically a wand only works for another wizard if its allegiance is forcibly won or possibly if they have close family ties.”

“Uh. Well, I don’t know anything about it. Here, give mine a go.” Harry grabbed his holly wand from under his pillow and stuffed it into Severus’ hand.

Severus looked shocked for a moment before carefully gripping the lighter wand and silently casting. Candles all around flared up, and the whole room warmed by several degrees.

“It responds as well as mine does. I wonder if it has something to do with the bracelets. Or perhaps with sharing your power initially.” Severus sounded interested, and Harry could see the glint in his eye that he got when he was working on some new theory.

“No magic theory this early. You can study all you want when we get back to Hogwarts.” Harry muttered, falling back onto his pillow. He felt a bony finger press into his side a second later.

“Up before Molly comes to fetch us. I would prefer to avoid that if at all possible.”

Harry grumbled but rolled himself out of bed, throwing his shield up at the same time, so he didn’t drag Severus half off the bed.

They made their way downstairs and through the impressive breakfast that Molly had made before bundling up and heading to Diagon Alley.

Harry and Severus took up their positions inside the abandoned jewelry store. The dingy windows afforded them a limited view. They could hear the wizarding district coming awake and watched as the occasional witch or wizard strolled past in the early morning light. It was surprisingly clear for a winter day in London, and weak sunlight traced its way through the dusty, empty shelves.

They wiled away the time playing muggle cards, not wanting to use magic, and accidentally draw notice to the shop.

Harry was just standing to stretch the kinks out of his back when he heard shouting from down the street. The loud bangs of curses slamming into buildings drew closer as Severus stood, coming up to press his shoulder against Harry’s as they watched the door to the shop closely.

A sudden flash and the front window blew in, glass flying toward them. Harry threw a shield over both of them just as a man Harry vaguely recognized came rolling across the floor, having been thrown through the now mangled front door.

“Rowle,” Severus snarled as he stalked toward the man that was scrambling up from the floor. He was dressed in the typical Death Eater cloak, his previously shiny shoes scuffed from his roll over the floor. He had a handsome, aristocratic face that was contorted into an expression of loathing.

“Snape. Won’t the Dark Lord be pleased when he finds out I’ve killed his little traitor,” Rowle said, recovering quickly and throwing a wordless bright blue curse at Severus.

Harry unthinkingly slammed a shield up just long enough to deflect it off in the wall.

“And he’s brought along Harry Potter! I didn’t think even you were stupid enough to bring the Chosen One out into the light of day Severus,” Rowle taunted as his wand slashed out, a curse hitting a wooden shelf and sending sharp splinters flying through the air. Harry felt a painful sting on his cheek, followed by the warm trickle of blood.

“Oh please, Rowle, you couldn’t take him even if he lost his wand. You’re truly an idiot if you think you’re going to get out of here with your freedom. I tricked your lord, despite his best efforts to break my mind, for decades.” Severus said, his dark eyes fiery, “And he managed to send your lord running how many times now, Harry?”

“Oh, I think we’re at six now, Severus,” Harry answered, amused despite the situation.

Rowle looked uncomfortable for an instant before his face twisted, and he raised his wand. He stayed in precisely that position as he toppled forward, petrified by a grinning Tonks.

“Wotcher boys,” she declared as she stepped over Rowle, leaning down just long enough to press a portkey into his hand that would transport him to a holding cell in the ministry. The man vanished with a snap, Tonks tucking his wand into her belt.

The sounds of a scuffle brought their attention to the front of the shop, a bleeding Kingsley backing in with his wand held on Narcissa Malfoy, who looked somewhat worse for wear.

The twins followed behind her, Bill facing the street as he guarded his brother's backs.

“You think you’ll get away with this? I’ve not done anything, you’ve no cause to arrest me,” she spat, her head held high.

“No one is arresting you, Cissy,” Severus said, stepping forward into her line of sight.

“Severus? What are you doing here?” She looked confused and suspicious, but there was a tiny glint of something that looked like hope in her eyes.

“George, Fred, can you get the wards up?” Harry stepped forward and addressed the twins when it became clear that Kingsley had been hit harder than he had thought and was barely keeping his feet. Narcissa lowered her wand as the attention in the room shifted to the others.

“Bill, can you get Kingsley out of here? He’s not going to do any good, and it looks like he needs a healer.” he continued, following mostly along with Hermione’s guidelines.

“Yeah, Harry. I already triggered my part. You sure you’re good?” Bill asked as he moved to grab the swaying Auror.

“Yeah, we’ve got it. See you back at headquarters.” Harry waved to Bill as he apparated away before joining Severus in front of Malfoy’s mum. They really did look alike. Despite everyone saying he was a copy of his dad, Malfoy had more of the Black family looks than people seemed to think.

“Severus, what’s happening?” Narcissa asked again, her voice tight.

Severus held up a hand to pause her as they waited for the wards. With a muffled thump, the spells that had been put in place for today all came up, falling thickly around them.

“Draco sent us to get you. We’re taking you to a safe house, but in order to ensure that no one tries to follow you, we need to fake your death.” Severus answered as soon as they were shielded.

It said something about the woman that she only took a second to process all of it. “And Draco? Will he be coming as well?”

“No. He has elected to remain and ensure that our ruse is believed.” Snape answered.

“No. Absolutely not. You know what they will do to him, Severus. You cannot allow this. I will not go. I will not put him through that,” she was almost shouting by the time she finished, panic clear in her face.

“Narcissa…” Severus started, only to have her cut him off with a sharp wave.

“Mrs. Malfoy, you need to listen,” Harry broke in. He could see her digging down on her determination not to leave her son, and he knew if they didn’t convince her now that they wouldn’t be able to get either of them out.

“He came to us to get you to a safe place. He knew what was going to happen, and we’ve done what we can to prepare him and make sure that he survives.” she gave him a horrified look, correctly interpreting what he wasn’t saying.  
“If you don’t go, he won’t stay on our side. He will go back to Voldemort because he’ll believe it’s the only way to save you. He will die when he fails to kill Dumbledore. He’ll die after he watches you tortured to death, and he knows it. He made the best choice he could in all of this.” Harry finished his voice firm.

Tears gathered in the woman’s eyes at Harry’s words, and she turned to look helplessly at Severus.

“He’s right, Cissy. This is the best chance for both of you. I’ll do everything I can to keep him safe. You know I will,” Severus promised, his voice rough.

She took several deep breaths, her eyes screwed tightly shut, and tears running down her face before she slowly nodded.

“What do you need from me?” she whispered.

“Blood and hair. We need enough of you to create the imprint of your magical signature, and we figured we wouldn’t go as far as Wormtail did.” Harry answered.

She gave him a thin look but nodded. Now that she had agreed, she seemed surer of herself, and she reached into her boot and pulled a knife out, swinging her long hair around and cutting through it just at the base of her skull without any hesitation.

Harry reached out and took the offered bundle. It was still warm and silky soft, sliding through his fingers like liquid.

Severus held out a small bowl, which Narcissa filled with blood from a cut on her forearm, made with the same knife. Tonks stepped forward and healed it with a flick of her wand.

Narcissa gave Tonks a startled look. “You’re Andromeda's girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Auntie Narcissa, I am,” she said, her hair flashing neon blue before streaking back to her normal eye watering pink.

“Alright, let's get this done before reinforcements show,” Severus interrupted, moving over to the area they had cleared. He spilled the bowl of blood over the ground, motioning for Harry to spread her hair over it.

The pale locks soaked into the blood, turning a light pink as Severus chanted the spell that would magnify the magic left in her blood, making the magical signature large enough to be a whole person, not just the small amount in the blood and hair.

He finished with a final twist of his wand and turned to the other three. He held out a small nutcracker he had pulled from inside his robes, the portkey to the safe house.

“Fred! George! Start the countdown!” Harry yelled as he reached out to grab the shiny black boot of the soldier.

A yell of acknowledgment came, prompting Severus to give the trigger word for the portkey. Harry felt the sickening hook in his navel as he was pulled through nothing, and the next instant landed hard in a bush in front of one of his own houses.

* * *

She heard the thump from the front yard and hurried to open the door. When the rest of the group had left that morning, Hermione had taken a portkey to the safe house, hoping she would be able to help if needed. She had lunch going and the stock of healing potions that Snape had left her with just in case.

She looked out into the damp front garden and watched Harry struggle out of the rosemary bush, snagging his jumper and nearly losing a trainer when Snape got tired of waiting and reached over to yank him the rest of the way free.

“You’ve defeated and thwarted the most powerful dark wizard of our time, but you can’t manage to drink your tea without wearing it or get yourself free of a bush,” Snape said, a put upon look on his harsh face.

Harry just grinned at him as he straightened himself, pulling bits of rosemary from his hair and jumper. Mrs. Malfoy was watching them with a nonplussed look and finally turned to the house, belatedly noticing Hermione.

A small sour look came over her face as she looked her up and down, taking in Hermione’s muggle clothes and loosely braided hair with a sneer.

Hermione was briefly tempted to point out that the Malfoy matron had no room to judge since she was wearing torn robes, and her hair looked like it had been sawed off with a knife. Which given Hermione’’s plan, it very likely had been.

“Why don’t you come in Mrs. Malfoy. You can dry off and get changed. Malfo.. Draco arranged to have clothes sent over for you.” she finished, having realised for the sake of less confusion she would need to drop her use of the younger Malfoy’s surname.

A thin blond brow arched at her, but the woman marched in, holding herself with stiff dignity as Hermione pointed her towards the stairs that led to three small but comfortable bedrooms, the largest overlooking the sea cliffs and already having been filled with things Draco had sent along for her.

Snape stalked in after Narcissa, followed by a cheerful looking Harry who wrapped an arm around her as soon as she had closed the door.

She reached up and pulled several twigs free of his unruly hair, noticing that he had blood smeared over his cheek and jaw.

“Is that your blood or someone else’s?” she asked as she moved to grab some of the healing supplies from her bag.

Snape spun around at her words and crossed the room in quick strides. He reached Harry and carefully tilted his head to the side. A frown etched on his face.

“You did not mention that you had been injured.”

Harry gently batted the other man away “Because it’s a small splinter, nothing to fuss over. I’ve gotten much worse playing quidditch.”

“Since I seem to recall a quidditch incident in which you lost all of the bones in your arm, that’s hardly reassuring,” Snape said as he reached for the clean cloth and antiseptic Hermione was holding.

“That was a Lockhart incident, not a quidditch incident.” Harry retorted, but he tilted his head and allowed Snape to clean off the wound and pull a reasonably large splinter out before he healed it with a few murmured words.

Hermione stood back and watched the two of them, her previous suspicions welling up again. She had never imagined that Severus Snape, the dungeon bat, and greasy potions master, could be so gentle with anyone and certainly not with Harry.

And Harry. She knew her best friend, knew him better than he knew himself some days, and anything that had ever resembled animosity toward Snape had vanished, leaving something else entirely in its stead.

She wasn’t sure what was going on, but she felt confident that neither of them had any idea either. She would try and speak with Harry soon, if only to reassure herself that her friend wasn’t walking into something he didn’t want by accident.

Footsteps on the stairs brought her out of her musings, and she looked up to see a much more put together Narcissa Malfoy descending into the room. She had evened out the ragged cut of her hair, making it into a sophisticated bob and wore clean dark blue robes that were cut in the latest fashion. She glided over to a chair upholstered in a lovely grey-blue fabric and perched on the edge, surveying the room.

The entryway was a short hall, just long enough for a small table and a cloak rack. Straight ahead, dark rich wood stairs climbed to the next floor and the bedrooms. To the right was a small but comfortable sitting room, a sofa and two chairs arranged around a low coffee table carved from a single piece of huge driftwood.

A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, dispelling the chill that radiated off of the glass in the huge front windows, which looked out over the small garden with its low white fence and out to the crashing ocean.

A comfortably sized kitchen, painted a cheerful light yellow with a small two person breakfast table tucked under another window sat across the hall. A nondescript white door under the stairs led to an expanded basement which held a large library with another fireplace and a small room to brew potions.

The whole house smelled like heather and salty sea air and was hidden under so many protection charms that it was virtually invisible.

Hermione had fallen in love with it as soon as she had seen it and made Harry promise to let her stay there sometimes when he wasn’t using it. He had just laughed and kissed her cheek, telling her that if she liked it so much he would just give it to her when the war was over.

The rest of them trouped in to join Narcissa in the sitting room, Harry and Snape sitting down next to each other on the couch, their wrists with identical bracelets absently touching.

Hermione took the other free armchair nearest the fire and relaxed into it.

“I assume everyone made it out safely?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, Kingsley got hit pretty badly, but he was still upright when Bill took him for healing. We had a bit of a surprise, a Death Eater came in with her.” Harry answered, motioning to Narcissa.

“The Dark Lord insisted that I be escorted. I fear that he suspected I might try to run. I can only assume he has someone watching Draco to see if I tried to leave with him.” Mrs. Malfoy added stiffly.

“I am not surprised. Draco was quite sure that you were going to be made an example of.” Snape said.

Narcissa looked uncomfortable, her slender fingers twisting together in her lap.

“Yes well, he wasn’t wrong. My husband's name hasn’t afforded me as much protection as I might have hoped. I’m afraid that with Lucius in prison the only thing that was keeping me safe was the manor wards.” she went a little pale as she said this, making Hermione wonder how she had found out that Malfoy Manor would defend her.

“I’ll key the wards here to you before we leave, and we’ve got just about every protection spell we can think of on the house. You won’t be able to send or receive post, or really communicate in any way with anyone outside of the house since it would leave a trail. Severus stocked up the library for you, and I think Malfoy sent along a few things he thought you’d want.” Harry scrubbed his hand through his hair as he spoke “We’ll have someone stop by once a week with groceries and to check in. If something goes wrong there’s a necklace on your bedside table that’s a portkey. Just grab it as say “Phoenix” and it’ll take you straight to headquarters.”

Narcissa was giving Harry an unhappy look by the time he finished. “I hardly think I’m going to spend the next however many years it will take to defeat the Dark Lord hiding in a small cottage on the sea like some kind of hermit.”

“Cissy you cannot be seen. You must know that it will be just as dangerous for Draco as it would be for you.” Snape broke in, a frown of disapproval on his face.

“Hush Severus, I’m hardly talking about flouncing around Diagon like some idiot. I intend to help with the war effort.” she declared, leaving the other three speechless.

“And how exactly are you hoping to do that?” Hermione blurted out, knowing she had offended the other woman when the blond turned to look down her rather pointy nose at her.

“While I understand that some people believe that a pureblood witch just sits at home and directs house elves I do have some actual skills.” Hermione felt herself blush at the tone and the fact that she had on occasion wondered what witches in Narcissa’s position did with their days.

Hermione shook her head slightly, a small voice that sounded rather like her mum reminding her to not make assumptions about people. Hermione knew that if she were in the same position as Narcissa she would be insisting on doing something useful as well, not just sitting by like some damsel in distress.

“There are a number of potions that we need that I simply do not have enough time to work on building up a stock of. If I remember correctly you have some skill in brewing.” Snape said to Narcissa.

“Yes, just send me a list and ingredients,” she answered quickly, the skin around her eyes relaxing at having something concrete to do.

“Portkeys” Hermione said quickly, hoping to recover a bit from her earlier blunder. “We need emergency portkeys, as many of them as we can get. Since they typically have to be registered with the Ministry and are so time consuming to create not many people can make them.”

“I can make portkeys. I’ll need a list of destinations, and junk to use.” Narcissa seemed pleased at this.

“Good. We will get you the lists and items you need. Ms. Granger has offered to be your point of contact as most of the Order is closely watched while she is not simply by virtue of both her position as a student and her blood status.” Snape said as he rose to his feet.

Mrs. Malfoy looked at her, her lips pursed and a clear look of superiority on her face.

“Yes, I suppose they would not suspect Draco of consorting with a muggleborn.” A note of distaste had entered her voice and Hermione felt her spine stiffen.

“Right. I started lunch for you, it’s on the stove. I’ll be back next weekend with supplies for you.” Hermione spun before the other witch could say anything else and marched out the front door, grabbing her cloak from the hook on the way by.

She heard a scramble before Harry jogged up to her, pulling his cloak on as the halted just beyond the small gate at the apparition point.

A sharp click of the front door a moment later and Snape strode up to them, his robes billowing particularly well in the wind off the cliff. He nodded to her, indicating that she should head back first.

Hermione arrived in the small back garden of Grimmauld place and immediately moved out of the way for Harry and Snape to land.

They found the Weasley twins seated at the table, regaling everyone with their daring rescue, which had turned into something that sounded rather single handed.

“Shot off the curse that took Rowle down did you?” Harry said, making the twins jump and give him identical looks of sheepishness.

“Well, maybe not entirely….”

“....but we helped” They responded.

Snape gave a small snort at their antics but just shook his head as he ducked out of the room, no doubt going to change. Harry made an aborted move to follow him and seemed to correct himself at the last instant and sit instead. He looked strangely uncomfortable and kept shifting his right arm restlessly as if looking for something.

Hermione sat beside him, unconsciously leaving the space to his right open for Snape, and pulled her notebook out.

She opened it to find the first page half-filled with Draco’s neat writing, asking for updates. She quickly pulled a muggle pen from her pocket to write with.

_ ** Sorry, I couldn’t update you, I was at the safe house, the magic can’t get through the wards there. Everything went fine, she’s safe.** _

Hermione watched as words appeared under hers, the ink smearing a bit at his haste.

_No problems? She didn’t get hurt?_

_ **Rowle showed up with her but they took him out fairly quickly. Kingsley got the worst of it from what I hear. Your mum didn’t get hurt at all. She’s settling into the safe house. I’ll be heading back to see her next weekend if you want me to take anything for her.** _

_Thank you. I’ll leave a few things stuck to the back of the statue of Boris by the bathroom. We can’t risk being seen meeting for awhile._

_ ** Has anyone reported on what happened yet?** _

_No, but Theodore Nott has been stuck to me all day. I suspect his father told him to watch me. It looks like I’ll get another day before I have to start the act._

_ **You still have your portkey right?** _

_ Yes, Granger, don’t worry, I won’t forget the one thing that could save my life if the Dark Lord decides to use me as snake fodder._

_ **That’s not funny. ** _

_It’s a little funny. _

Hermione was brought back to the room when Harry cleared his throat, looking at her notebook pointedly. She snapped it shut and put her pen back into her pocket.

“I was just updating Malfoy on what had happened. It hasn’t gotten around the school yet, but Nott has been watching him.” Her words distracted Harry from the notebook.

“I’m not surprised. They’ll want time to make sure she is actually dead and not just on the run. Malfoy probably has a couple of days before they bring him in.” Harry said in what she thought was a far too casual way to talk about another wizard being tortured.

The table finally settled down, Snape rejoining them with his long hair still dripping from his shower. They made their way through an early dinner that Molly had set out before heading back to Hogwarts. They apparated into the edge of the forbidden forest just as the moon was starting to appear and made their way into the castle.

Hermione waved goodbye to them as she turned up toward the Gryffindor tower, thinking tiredly of what the next week would bring. She nodded to everyone in the common room, stopping only long enough to update Ron, who had stayed behind. The last thing she remembered thinking was that she would read a little before bed as she settled into her sheets.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the feedback. Comments, both favorable and those with constructive criticism are always welcome.

_I held the better cards_   
_But every stroke of luck has got to bleed through_   
_It's got to bleed through_   
_You held the balance of the time_   
_That only blindly I could read you_   
_But I could read you_

-Flora Cash, You're Somebody Else

They got up late the following morning, having gotten into an argument the night before about dueling practice. Severus felt he was very reasonable, trying to schedule more time given that between the two of them, Rowle shouldn’t have even had time to speak, let alone cast.

Harry had complained that they were already practicing regularly and that if he wanted more exercise, he should start going for runs with Harry and join him in his quidditch training since he was falling out of practice.

Severus hadn’t bothered to dignify that with an answer.

They were late getting out to breakfast, even for a Sunday, but they didn’t want to miss the morning paper coming in, sure to have some mention of yesterday's exploits.

They were just walking up the stairs from the dungeons when Severus turned, trying again to make his point from the night before. Harry was a few steps behind him and had just lifted his foot when he went stiff, alarm and pain flashing over his face. His bright green eyes rolled back, and he uttered an awful choked scream before he fell backward down the stairs.

Severus lunged for him but missed, the tips of his fingers grazing Harry’s jumper. He threw a wordless and wandless cushioning charm, trying to stop the other man from cracking his skull open. Harry landed with a muffled thump, immediately curling into a ball, his fingers digging into his forehead.

“Harry?!” Severus scrambled down the stairs, his mind gone blank under the roar of absolute panic. He looked down to see blood pouring from Harry’s nose and the sight snapped him back. He conjured his Patronus, yelling at it to get Poppy without actually looking at it while he flung a web of spells over Harry, trying to see if he could diagnose what was wrong.

They hadn’t eaten anything different. Harry hadn’t been around anything without Severus; he couldn’t think what would do this. Severus crouched over where Harry was shuddering on the floor, tears streaming down his face and small whimpers escaping him.

The clatter of shoes on the stairs brought his wand snapping up, his face twisted into a snarl. Poppy paused for an instant, her dark eyes assessing before ignoring Severus and running to Harry. Albus came down seconds behind her, his face alarmed, robes swirling around him.

“Did anything happen before this?” Poppy barked.

“No, nothing out of the ordinary. He was fine this morning.” Severus had fallen over from his crouch and sat at Harry’s side, his fingers digging into the younger wizard's arm.

“Poppy, I believe I know what’s wrong. It would be best to put him to sleep for now.” Albus interrupted. Poppy gave him a narrow eyed look but waved her wand, Harry going mercifully still and silent.

“What the hell was that?” Severus snapped, turning on the Headmaster.

“I believe Voldemort has found out about your activities and was using his bond with Harry to try and dig for information.”

Severus felt the blood drain from his face. “I had thought it was an issue of planting false images, not disabling him. This should not be possible at a distance. Why wasn’t I told this was possible?”

“My boy you were, you just chose to ignore it at the time, I believe in favor of deciding that Mr. Potter was exaggerating his headaches,” Albus responded sharply, making Severus shut his eyes in shame. So the fault for this too lay with him, as he was finding more and more often the case where Harry was concerned.

He’d had no idea the level of mental attack that Harry was subject to. He didn’t care what they had to do, as soon as Harry was better, they were working on his Occlumency shields.

“I had best get him up to the hospital wing. I believe you’ll still need to come along Severus.” Poppy said as she waved her wand and lifted Harry, levitating him ahead of her. She passed Dumbledore on the stairs and sent him a reproachful look, obviously not happy with the situation.

Severus got to his feet and scrambled to follow, watching Poppy float Harry up the stairs. His hand twitched on his wand as he stopped himself from taking over. Dumbledore hurried along behind them, not bothering to try and speak with Severus yet.

He wasn’t sure what the look on his face was, but the few students they met in the halls scrambled to get out of the way, one small third year going too far as to plaster himself against the stones of the corridor as if their little group was taking up the width of the hall.

Just before they got to the hospital wing, Granger and Weasley ran up, clearly having heard that their friend was once again injured.

“Professor, what happened?” Granger asked, quicker to catch her breath than the tall redhead.

“The Dark Lord decided to share his displeasure with Harry,” Severus explained shortly, his long strides getting him to the doors faster than the others. He put up a hand, the doors slamming open as he strode in. Harry was quickly settled into a bed, Granger, and Weasley, taking up posts on one side without words. After nearly six years, they were both used to it and had their Harry-is-in-the-hospital-wing pattern down well.

Dumbledore grabbed his arm as he moved to sit beside Harry, halting him.

“Severus, the boy, will be fine, but you must make certain that Voldemort did not get any information out of him,” the grey haired wizard whispered.

Severus just nodded, pulling his arm away from Albus perhaps a bit more sharply than was warranted. He moved over to settle on Harry’s right, the chair having been left open for him.

Poppy bustled back in a moment later and stopped to stare at the small crowd of people around Harry’s bed.

“This is hardly necessary. Mr. Potter will be up and around in a moment, no need for everyone to stand around like he’s dying. Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger, back to whatever you were occupying your Sunday with.” The Mediwitch waved the other two off despite the thin glares she got for her trouble.

“These three, they’re worse than any set of siblings I’ve met. You’d think they were raised from the womb together, the way they behave.” She shook her head slightly, grey curls flying, as she moved toward Harry with a bright yellow headache potion.

“For all intents, they are siblings Poppy. It would do well for you to remember that” she gave him a surprised look. “They’re the closest thing to family Harry has, and consider that they’ve been through more than most Auror partners.”

“Umm. I suppose so, though I never imagined I would hear you advocating for the Gryffindor Golden Trio.” The last was said with some sarcasm, and he gave her a thin smile.

“Yes, well, my perspective has been changed rather dramatically over the last three months,” he replied, watching as Poppy spelled the potions into Harry’s stomach before flicking her wand to wake him up.

Green eyes snapped wide as he arched up off of the bed, his back curved so hard that Severus was already assessing how much muscle relaxing salve he had on hand. A moment later and the younger man collapsed with a groan, his body falling loose like someone had cut his strings.

Severus bent over him before Poppy could, meeting pained eyes. “You alright?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, I think so. Bastard came out of nowhere.” Harry muttered, rubbing a hand over his inflamed scar.

“Did he get anything from you? Do we need to move people?” Snape asked quickly, wanting to let Harry rest but needing to know if he should have Draco on the first train out of England.

Harry shook his head. “No, I don't think he even realised we were connected. He was just so angry it was spilling over. ”

Severus sighed, relaxing back into the hard chair and running his fingers through his long hair.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Potter?” Poppy asked, finally approaching, sparing a small disapproving look for Severus.

“I’m alright, bit of a headache but not too bad. Do I need to stick around, or can I go?” Harry asked, pushing himself upright.

Snape sat forward, ready to tell him that he was mad if he thought he was being released from the hospital wing right after something like that.

“You’re free to go. You know the procedure.”

Harry nodded. “Headache gets worse, nausea, vomiting, anything that seems off, come back,” he recited from memory.

Poppy nodded and waved him off, turning back to her office before Severus could protest.

Harry groaned again but pulled himself out of bed, pausing for a moment to stretch his back out after the abuse he had put it through.

He glanced back, eyebrows flying up in surprise to find Severus still sitting at the side of the bed, staring at him.

“Well, come on, if it’s all the same to you, I haven’t had any breakfast yet, and I’d like to see if there’s any left.”

“You’ve lost the plot Potter. You were bleeding from your face because of a mental attack from who knows how far away. From your face Harry.” Severus declared as if the other man hadn’t noticed the severity of his injury and needed informing.

“Yeah? If you haven’t noticed yet, this is pretty typical for me. I mean in the grand scheme of things nothing has tried to eat me, possess me, or otherwise murder me, so I’m doing better than I usually am when I wake up here,” Harry responded plainly.

“And look, I still have all my bones, it’s a good day” Harry shot him a cheeky smile as he wiggled his fingers at him, demonstrating that he did indeed have all of his bones.

“This Harry. This is the reason I have anxiety issues.” Severus just shook his head and got up to follow the ridiculous Gryffindor.

* * *

They made it to dinner before the news hit, the paper having been suspiciously sparse, only mentioning an accident in an abandoned shop. A very solemn Dumbledore walked in and collected Malfoy, leading him out with a firm hand on his back while curious students craned their necks after him. Harry took a deep breath from his spot at the Gryffindor table, seated between Hermione and Seamus, and let his eyes flick up for an instant to meet Severus’ across the hall.

Hermione reached down and squeezed his hand once, hard. The next few hours would dictate whether or not they would be trying to smuggle two Malfoys out of the country.

He heard the yelling long before Malfoy got back into the hall, his voice making the headache that Harry hadn’t quite gotten rid of flare up.

“Merlin, he has some lungs on him,” Hermione muttered under her breath, meeting Ron’s wide eyes across the table.

“POTTER!! YOU BLOODY FUCKING CUNT I KNOW YOU WERE INVOLVED!!”

If Harry didn’t know better, he would be a bit worried at this point with the amount of rage in the Slytherin’s voice.

A wild looking Malfoy ran into the Great Hall, skidding to a stop near the Gryffindor table. His normally perfect hair was disheveled, his robe was half hanging off of his shoulder, and his eyes were a terrifying blaze of silver.

Harry shoved himself off the bench, backing up to try and get enough room between himself and the rest of the students to avoid any accidental hits.

“I’ll fucking kill you for this Potter. I’ll fucking kill you!!” Malfoy screamed in rage, and instead of throwing curses like everyone scrambling out of his way was expecting, he ran and launched himself over the table, sailing almost gracefully before crashing into Harry.

Harry had a split second to see Malfoy’s eyes assess the people flanking them, creating a ring of innocent bystanders. He braced himself as he watched Draco make the executive decision to jump and hope that Harry had figured out enough to play along.

Harry caught him, trying to stop both of them from hitting the floor too hard while making it look like he had tried to dodge.

The next thing he knew, Malfoy was on top of him, and his fist was coming toward his face. Harry had just a second to appreciate the poetic justice that he was going to have to take whatever Malfoy decided to give him before the punch connected and snapped his head back hard.

The next few minutes were long and painful as Harry tried to fight back without actually doing anything effective. He knew he needed to look bad at the end of this to sell it, and if it looked like Draco had gone into such a rage that he couldn’t fend him off, then it was more likely the students with Death Eater parents would report back what the Order wanted them to.

The weight on his chest suddenly lifted, the screaming Slytherin suspended in midair, twisting to shout threats and abuse at his godfather, who was levitating him several feet above Harry.

“Stupify,” Severus uttered, a rolling silence following his deep voice. Malfoy lay suspended in the air, his limbs flopping, and blood smeared over his knuckles.

“Potter, are you alright?” he asked, a thin black brow raised in question. Harry tried to answer and instead rolled over and spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor, coughing out more as he choked a little.

Harry glanced up through watering eyes to see the concern hidden in Severus’. Harry waved him off weakly, still coughing feebly.

“Granger, please make sure he doesn’t drown. Finnigan, go get Madam Pomfrey.” The Irishman shot off to follow any instructions that got him out of range of the blood around Harry, his face an alarming pale green.

Hermione rushed over, carefully pushing his hair back. She sucked air in through her teeth when she got a good look at him. He could already feel his face swelling; the vision in his left eye was restricting to a thin slit, and a cursory poke with his tongue confirmed at least two of his bottom teeth were loose.

“Not quite so pretty right now, uh?” Harry said hoarsely, trying to get her to smile.

“Merlin, Harry shut up. I think he broke some of your ribs.” Worry creased her face as she felt along his side, sending a lance of pain through him when she brushed his ribs.

A flash and a snick made Hermione spin around and glare at Colin Creevey, who backed away rapidly at her look, his camera clutched tightly to his chest.

The mediwitch arrived a moment later and stopped to look down at Harry with a completely unimpressed expression.

“Mr. Potter, if you wanted to spend the night in my ward, there are easier ways.” She shook her head and cast several spells over him. He recognized a few from previous run-ins, standard stabilizing charms, and a monitoring spell for his vitals.

A sharp look from her cut off his protest that he could hardly be at fault for getting beaten. Though he kind of was. He gave up trying to figure out who was to blame in the case of a planned injury and just focused on moving his ribs as little as possible.

“I’ll just assume for all our sakes that you cannot walk,” Madam Pomfrey said as she levitated him for the second time that day, motioning impatiently for Severus to join them.

Severus nodded and passed his stunned godson off to the newly arrived Headmaster, waving McGonagall to explain before he hurried out after Harry.

Six potions, three healing spells, and a great deal of prodding later, he was declared mostly healthy. Harry took one look at Severus and knew he wasn’t getting out of there a second time so easily. Even Madam Pomfrey had just given him a flat look as she passed over his hospital pyjamas.

Severus sent for Tippy, getting his sleep clothes and a muggle book he had meant to start, completing his nightly rituals in the large hospital wing bathroom.

Severus extended the bed before he slid in, trying to prop himself up with one pillow and failing. Harry took pity on him and silently summoned several from nearby beds. He’d get hell for it tomorrow, but he had learned that Severus didn’t sleep well without a small mountain of the damn things.

Harry got a small smile for his trouble and felt himself drifting as Severus settled down, the pain potions making everything a little fuzzy.

Twenty minutes later and he was still awake, now shifting around restlessly.

“What’s wrong?” Severus asked quietly.

“Nothing, I just have trouble sleeping when I’m here. Not the best memories, you know,” Harry answered.

They fell quiet again, Harry slowly counting the tiles on the ceiling, a habit he had developed during second year when he had spent so much time there with a petrified Hermione. He shifted again, pulling the thin blankets up to his chin and wishing for the heavy weight of the comforter on their bed. He hated lightweight blankets, even in the summer, and had found that the extra thick one that Severus had to combat the chill of the dungeons was perfect.

The sound of a throat clearing brought his attention to the man beside him. “Would you like a book?”

Harry just shook his head “The pain potion makes everything hard to focus on. It’s fine, I’ve developed a riveting system of tile counting for these occasions.”

A small snort of laughter came from Snape before he asked with some hesitance, “…would you like me to read to you?”

Harry could hear the embarrassment in the other man’s voice, and for an instant considered teasing him, but he had learned over the past few months when Severus would respond well to it and when he wouldn’t. Instead, he just rolled over to face the other man and gave him a tired smile and a nod.

Severus cleared his throat again and thumbed back to the start of the book, a murder mystery set on the dark streets of Chicago. Harry was unwillingly captivated, staying awake for far longer than he thought he would. When he finally drifted off, their hero was prowling a back alley, trying to find the killer that might be the victim, and Severus’ deep voice sent him drifting into strange dreams of snowy streets and lakes as big as oceans.

* * *

Draco woke with the faces of his Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress far too close to him. He sat up with a jerk and scooted back, leaning up against the arm of a couch that hadn’t been in the Headmaster’s office last time he’d come in. Its pattern was suspiciously similar to the rug that was usually under the stand for the phoenix, which was now somewhat conspicuously absent.

“Did that go alright then?” he asked, eyes darting between the other two.

“Did it go alright, he says. Well, I should think that the entire school and by now half of the British wizarding world is convinced that you not only tried to kill Potter but nearly succeeded.” McGonagall responded, her voice going a bit high.

“Is he alright?” Draco asked reluctantly. He almost felt bad for enjoying the first few hits he’d gotten on Potter, years of pent up frustration finally taken out on his erstwhile enemy. After that, though - his stomach turned a little when he remembered the exact feeling of Potter’s nose breaking under his fist. He’d met the green eyes of the man on the floor and had been dismayed to see that they held no hatred, just a resigned kind of patience.

It had gone from beating the hell out of Potter and maybe enjoying it, to beating the hell out of a man who was just trying to help him, which had rather sucked the fun out of it.

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy, he’s fine. Poppy got him put back together, and Severus is with him.” Dumbledore answered reassuringly. “You did an excellent job of convincing everyone, though I fear I have already received an owl from your solicitor, requesting a meeting.”

Draco felt a lump form in his throat. He knew logically that his Mother was fine. Still, there was something both morbid and a bit alarming about going through the motions to establish himself as head of the Malfoy family and planning his Mother’s funeral.

“Yes, of course. I’ll leave first thing in the morning then?” Their plan had been for Potter to graciously pardon his actions as those of someone who had just learned of the death of a parent, thereby releasing him from any unfortunate detainment for having attacked the Savior of the Wizarding World.

“Yes, but I think it would be prudent for you to remain outside of your House tonight. I believe it makes more sense for us to have kept you than to release you before Harry can speak for you.” Dumbledore said, motioning for Draco to follow him.

Draco pulled himself off the couch, wincing a little at how stiff and sore his hands felt. A spot on his side felt like a mix between a bruise and burn, telling him exactly where Severus had hit him with the stunner.

They left the Headmasters office and turned, only walking a little way down the hall before the old wizard ducked into a smaller door almost hidden by a Greek statue of a woman with a vase of flowers.

The interior looked like a smaller version of the teacher's quarters. It held a bed and a small en suite, just off of a tiny sitting room with a fireplace. Everything was decorated in dark browns, burnt oranges, and deep maroon, keeping well away from any House colors.

“One of our guest rooms for visiting faculty. You’ll be here tonight, just call for one of the house elves of you have need of anything. I believe your trunk has already been brought up.” Dumbledore smiled at him, eyes twinkling before leaving, shutting the door softly.

Draco sat down on the bed and dropped his head into his hands. This would be one of the few nights he would have before he had to take on the role of enraged Death Eater full time. A small reluctant sliver of gratitude for Dumbledore welled up.

Eventually, he pulled himself up and sorted through his trunk until he found a general healing potion and a bruise salve that Severus had started leaving for him after he had gotten his seeker position.

The notebook Granger had given him fell out along with a small shower of quills. He scooped it up and unlocked it to find that Granger had written to him. He read through as he tended to his hands, eyes tracing over her now familiar writing.

_ **Are you alright? Harry is in the hospital wing for the night, you managed to break three of his ribs, and Professor Snape thinks you may have fractured his eye socket.** _

Draco huffed, dropping onto the bed beside the notebook and slamming it shut angrily, trying to ignore the guilt fluttering through his chest. He did exactly what he was supposed to do. If Mother really had died and he thought Potter was involved, he would have done far worse. He wouldn’t have cared who was in the way, and he certainly wouldn’t have used his fists.

Draco found himself pacing alongside the bed, muttering to himself before finally grabbing the notebook and a quill.

_So what was I supposed to do then Granger? Give him a slap on the wrist like the rest of the world does? It’s not like I did any lasting harm, besides, should I remind you what HE did to ME?_

He stared angrily at the book for a minute, eventually reaching to slam it shut just as words started scrolling across the page.

** _I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to make you feel guilty. I just worry about Harry. Really though, are you alright? Snape stunned you, and they moved you before any of us could tell._ **

Draco paused at the words, some of his anger seeping away.

_Yes, I’m fine—only some bruises and scrapes. Dumbledore put me in a guest room for the night to keep me out of the Slytherin dorms._

_ **That was smart of him. Are you leaving the castle soon?** _

Draco sighed heavily at the reminder. He didn’t want to deal with this with any of this. When all of this was over, he would have more than a few things to say to his father.

_Yes. My solicitor called for me already, and I’ll need to arrange an appropriate funeral. Plus, of course, whatever amount of time it takes for the Dark Lord to decide whether he should kill me or not._

There was a long pause, and a small spot of ink spread at the top corner of the page as if Granger were resting her quill there while she thought. He shifted uncomfortably, kicking his boots off and moving to stretch out on the bed, trying to relax some of the tension that had started as soon as he saw Dumbledore walk into the Great Hall.

_ **It can’t be easy to have to do all of this. I know I can’t really help, and honestly, you probably wouldn’t want it anyway, but if you have time, could you try and keep us updated? And just know that I’m around if you need something.** _

Unwillingly the ball of stress and loneliness he had been carrying around since that summer eased just a fraction. There wasn’t anyone else he could talk to, only Order members, and it wasn’t like he was going to have a nice sit down with Potter. Though really, was talking to the mudblood any better?

_Yes, I’ll keep the Order informed of what I can. I left several things for Mother. Please remember to take them._

He snapped the notebook closed before he could read her reply, feeling uncomfortable with his line of thought.

It wasn’t like he _needed_ one of the overconfident idiots to confide in. It was just that no one in his house could be trusted, and it was good to have someone who could give him feedback on his ideas. That was all. It wasn’t like he needed the Know-It-All to spill his feelings to or some such nonsense.

It was ridiculous. The whole idea.

* * *

For the second time in his life, Severus woke in the hospital wing in bed with Potter. The light was thin and grey, somewhere between cloudy and early, and the odd mixture of scents from healing potions mingled with Harry’s soap. He couldn’t help but flash back to that first morning and how very different everything felt; he had never imagined that so much could change in just a few months.

Severus glanced over to the man beside him, the small smile that Harry seemed to inspire falling immediately into a look of sour disgust as he spied a string of drool the other man was leaking onto Snape’s shoulder.

Severus cast a wordless scourgify, making Harry twitch but mercifully drying out the damp spot on his pyjama shirt. The younger man shifted around until he had settled more firmly onto Severus, sighing as he sunk back into sleep.

With a few grumbles, he moved until he was comfortable, tucking the blankets around both of them a bit tighter and pressing back into the mound of pillows that Harry had stolen for him.

A rustle drew his attention just as he was drifting off again, his wand suddenly in his hand and pointing at the head of snowy hair poking around the edge of their curtain partition.

“Albus,” Severus whispered in greeting, dropping his wand down to rest on his chest. He started to shift away from Harry, not comfortable with anyone seeing him with a Gryffindor wrapped half around him but stilled when Harry made a small noise of complaint. He gave in with a slight huff, not wanting to wake the other man.

“Good morning, my boy,” Albus responded quietly but cheerfully. “I thought I would stop by and check on Harry, and perhaps take a moment to speak with you.” He wandered closer and took a stiff backed chair next to Severus, his robes an almost tolerable shade of robin’s egg blue.

“Harry is fine, he was just a bit drowsy last night, and Poppy wanted to monitor him since he had been in twice in one day,” Severus replied, wondering if the old man would finally stop dodging him. He had been trying to get Dumbledore cornered since they returned from break, but the man was alarmingly hard to locate for someone who was typically dressed in neon.

“Good, good, I’m glad to hear. Mr. Malfoy was concerned he might have injured Harry more than intended.” Albus raised bushy brows at him as if he needed any help understanding the significance of Draco being worried about Harry.

“I believe I owe you a meeting or two, my boy,” the old man said, studiously ignoring the look irritation he was receiving. “There are several things I would like to discuss with you and Harry, not the least of which is your vow. You haven’t told him of it yet, have you?”

“No. I was rather hoping I might be able to convince Narcissa to release me since she’s not particularly invested in your death these days.” Black eyes narrowed in suspicion. Severus didn’t enjoy it when Albus hid things from him, and he had been doing so more and more of late. This sudden forthcoming attitude set alarms ringing.

“Well, that’s certainly a worthwhile thought. I’ll ask Ms. Granger to take a letter when she goes next. Perhaps we can get that off of you sooner than later” A smile peeked through the thick beard. “I have things I need to share with the two of you when Harry is feeling up to it. Something that will hopefully win this war.”

“Anything to do with that?” Severus nodded toward Albus’ hand. The Headmaster had refused to tell him exactly what happened, only that he had run afoul of a trap guarding a valuable magical item.

“You always did have a way of seeing right through everything,” Albus said, his smile turning a bit sad. “Yes, it is something to do with this. I know you also wished to speak about the bond-”

Severus threw his free hand up sharply to stop Albus talking. He had forgotten he had his wand in his hand, and the resulting surge of magic pushed the Headmaster back a few lengths.

Severus flushed and lowered his wand quickly.

“My apologies. That was not intentional.”

“No trouble, my boy, that was certainly more effective at waking me than my tea was.” The cheerful response came as Albus moved himself and his chair back to the bedside.

“I do not wish to speak of the bond. Particularly what will happen when it is no longer there.” His voice had dropped lower as he spoke, his neck stretching away from the mess of black hair using his shoulder as a pillow.

“Oh Severus,” Albus said softly, sorrow filling his tired eyes, having correctly guessed his Potion Master’s plan. “So, after all this time, you’ve finally come to truly care for the boy.”

Severus just swallowed around the lump in his throat, his eyes darting away and settling, as they so often did, on Harry.

“I will not let him die, Albus. I will not.” His voice was a fierce whisper as he reached out to grasp the Headmaster’s healthy wrist, shaking it for emphasis.

“No, I don’t suppose you will. The choice is yours, Severus, but I will do what I can to try and find a solution before the time comes. You may be willing to die on his behalf, but I suspect that he would very much object.”

Severus just nodded, knowing better than to hope. “We will come find you after Poppy releases him so we can discuss whatever else you’ve been hiding. But please, Albus, do not tell him. I have asked very little of you over the years, at least grant me this.”

Dumbledore nodded slowly in reluctant agreement. “Very well. I will leave it to you. Send a quick note when you’re ready to meet, and I’ll come to find you.”

Severus waved as absent goodbye as the Headmaster swept out, turning instead to shift himself a little closer to Harry.

* * *

The day seemed to pass with supernatural speed, moving from Hogwarts to his solicitor's office in Diagon Alley, to the funeral specialists. The ingratiating group of men dressed in somber black who tried to tell him that only the very best marble would be acceptable for the Malfoy matron's tomb. Watching them try to hold their sympathetic expression when he asked exactly which nonexistent parts of his mother they were planning on entombing had been the highlight of his morning.

Draco finally called a halt, the musty room with its silence and awful red velvet couches making his skin crawl almost as much as the fake smiles from the short proprietor with his thinning hair and poorly fitted suit. Draco chose a tomb and arranged to have it picked up since it really wouldn’t do to have a group of people showing up to the manor.

Draco drew in a deep breath as he escaped out onto the cobbled street of Diagon Alley, the cold February wind biting into his face and clearing the smell of age and death from his nose. He checked his watch, seeing that he had managed to miss lunch by a wide margin just as his stomach growled.

Ambling down a small side street, Draco ducked into a quiet French restaurant, one of his Mother’s favorites. He hadn’t been for several months, but they knew him and knew better than to pester him. A server led him through the small space to a quiet table by the window, looking out onto the overcast street. The restaurant was small but well appointed, everything made with minimal clean lines in mind. The decor was primarily monochrome with small, tasteful splashes of colour and the lack of clutter made some of the tension in Draco’s shoulders release.

He was just finishing his very late lunch and trying to decide if putting pressure on the spot of pain between his eyes made it any better when a man sat down across from him.

Draco glanced up, his face twisted into a sneer, ready to tell off whatever idiot had elected to harass him now. He had already scared off three separate reporters and one fairly obvious conman that very morning.

His mouth snapped shut as he recognized Mcnair, his dark eyes just as cold as Draco remembered. He was dressed in a plain robe, several years out of date, that looked like it had been subject to a mending charm a few too many times. His dark hair was thinning, and his ragged nails left small snags in the fine linen of the tablecloth.

The older man smiled, revealing yellow crooked teeth. “Young Master Malfoy, our mutual acquaintance would like to extend his condolences for your terrible loss.” Mcnair leaned over the small table, bathing it in his sour breath as he reached to take the last of a rather excellent red Draco had been drinking.

Draco stiffened his back, waving off the server who was watching anxiously, not having known whether he should have stopped a ministry official from approaching his patron.

“Please extend my gratitude to him for thinking of my family in this trying time,” Draco responded, his lip curled in distaste.

“Oh no Master Malfoy, you misunderstand. He would very much like to extend his condolences in person. He’s sent me along to escort you.” Mcnair responded with a false smile.

Draco’s mind flew into overdrive, running down his internal checklist even as he nodded and climbed to his feet, dropping several galleons too many onto the table.

Mcnair’s fingers twitched toward the money before he stopped himself, a look of anger and envy crossing his face. Draco categorized the information away for potential use later on even as his fingers brushed carefully over the button stuck to the interior of his trouser pocket. The portkey was ready to snatch him away if the Dark Lord got through his defenses.

They exited at a sedate pace and walked to the nearest apparition point in silence. Draco had stored a vial of the serum that helped him to resist veritaserum in a tiny expanded compartment in his watch. Someone would have to know that it was there and the password if they hoped to retrieve it. He had taken it that morning, just before leaving Hogwarts and needed to dose himself again just in case questioning ran into the night.

When they arrived at the brass circle inlaid in the ground, Draco waved Mcnair forward, indicating he should apparate first.

“You’ll be apparating on a side along with me boy, I don’t want you running off now,” Mcnair demanded, stabbing a dirty nail at the ground in emphasis.  
Draco pulled on his best Malfoy look of disdain. “Do you honestly believe I would be so stupid as to wait until the Dark Lord called me before running? If I intended to flee, it would have been this morning, with a large sum of money from my solicitor.” Draco shook his head, his height letting him look down his nose at the ministry lackey.

“You’ve done your part, run along, and let your betters discuss what needs to be done to handle our current situation.” Draco motioned Mcnair off, dismissing him sharply.

The shorter man made a noise of incoherent rage and yanked his wand out. Draco had been expecting it though and cast a wandless and wordless levitation charm, throwing Mcnair back into the brick wall of the alley.

“You dare to attack a pureblood? You with your filthy muggle mother?” Draco spat, trying to hide how much his arm was shaking. He could do a fair few spells silently and without his wand, as long as it was still on him, but that didn’t mean it didn’t cost him.

Mcnair stared down at him, his arms spread out to either side, and his wand fallen at his feet. Fear warred with anger in his eyes, and Draco pushed just a tiny bit more power through his fatigued muscles, putting heavy pressure on the other man’s chest.

Dark eyes widened, and fear overtook the anger, Mcnair shaking his head rapidly, unable to draw a full breath.

Draco let up just enough for him to speak.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean no disrespect Lord Malfoy, I was just tryin to do as the Dark Lord said.” A whine had entered his voice, grating on Draco’s already tightly strung nerves.

“Of course, we all obey our Lord but do not ever presume to give me orders. Now, go back to the manor, I will be just behind you.” He pulled his arm back, dropping Mcnair with a thump.

The man scrambled to grab his wand and hurried into the circle, avoiding the younger man’s eyes. He disapparated with a sharp crack, giving Draco a few precious seconds to dose himself.

He had gotten into his watch, taken the serum, and re-secured everything in the time it took for him to walk into the brass circle himself and straighten his cloak. He dragged in a deep breath and twisted away with a snap.

* * *

Malfoy didn’t return to the castle that week. He hadn’t taken the notebook with him, obviously not wanting to risk it being found. Hermione spent the week glued to the papers, reaching for the post owl with almost as much speed as Snape did.  
The Monday morning that Draco left, the paper finally showed the full story, a picture of the jewelry store in flames, the fire burning a sickly green. The twins had set up most of the destructive charms and had somehow created a fire that acted as a guardian, lashing out at anyone that approached too closely.

They had designed it to give themselves a bit extra time before anyone could investigate, and according to the twins, it was only supposed to last 2-3 hours. When it was still burning Sunday morning, they had just shrugged, unconcerned.

By the time Aurors had gotten in, barely any evidence, magical or otherwise, remained. They finally found the magical signature that the Order had left for them, causing them to declare Narcissa Malfoy dead and a victim of a homicide. An investigation was ongoing with no leads, the Profit had reported with an air of glee.

The following two days gave no new clues, the paper doing small articles on Narcissa and her life, mentioning that her son had left school temporarily to deal with the loss. The Slytherins weren’t offering any clues either, though their hostility toward the Gryffindors had gone up considerably, and Hermione had started having to walk to class with groups.

It wasn’t until Thursday that they got any real updates, a picture of Malfoy appearing on the front page of the Profit, looking tired and pale but otherwise intact, and walking through the gates of Malfoy Manor with a vast marble tomb levitating ahead of him.

According to the article, he would be having a small private funeral for family and close friends the next day and would return to Hogwarts to resume his schooling the following week.

Hermione looked up over the crowded hall and met her Defense teacher's dark eyes. They gave each other quick looks of relief before turning back to their respective tables.

“So what’s the news, Mione? Is the Ferret still in one piece?” Ron asked around a mouthful of scone, spraying small pieces all over the table in front of him. His Gryffindor tie was slightly off center, and his robes looked like he had crumpled them into a small ball and played quidditch with them before putting them on.

“Sshhh,” Hermione hissed, glancing around to see if anyone had heard. The nearest person was Harry, who looked like he was contemplating whether or not porridge would make a decent pillow. In contrast, his outfit was perfectly clean and pressed, his red and gold tie precisely on center, and black boots polished to a shine. Snape had been a good influence on his dressing habits, though it had likely taken a few threats and several spells to get Harry that tidy.

Hermione flicked her wand, putting up a silencing spell and cleaning the wet crumbs off of the table and her paper in one movement. She gave her friend a look of disgust before she replied.

“Yes, he looks like he got through it. It says he should be back by Monday. They’re holding the funeral tomorrow.” She answered, Ron steadily making his way through his fourth sausage, Lavender strangely absent.

“Good. Be terrible to put all that work into helping the twat just to have him go off and get himself killed.”

Hermione shot the redhead a thin look, not bothering to respond. A hand landing on her shoulder startled her enough that she bumped Harry, sending him tilting a bit sideways.

She glanced up to see Ginny motioning at the bubble of the silencing charm with a puzzled look, her long red hair curling over her shoulders in a new style. Hermione quickly dismissed it and scooted over to make room for the younger woman.

Ginny smiled and sat down in the small space between her and Harry, pressing tightly to both of them.

“What was that about Hermione? More Golden Trio secrets?” Ginny said in a teasing tone, but the look in her eyes was suspicious.

“Hardly. I just wanted to yell at your brother without making a spectacle of it. He spit baked goods on my book. Again.” Hermione responded, only feeling a tiny twinge of guilt at the lie.

Ginny arched her brow at her brother, who smiled sheepishly back at her.

“So, Harry, do you want to study soon? I hardly see you anymore,” the redhead asked, her voice taking on a cajoling tone as she turned away to her address her target.

“Erm. Well, I mean, I can’t really, can I? We’ve got a little room, but not much, and Snape doesn’t have time to be in the common room every night.” Harry looked more awake and considerably more uncomfortable.

“But couldn’t he come up even once a week? It’s not like he has to talk to any of us, and it’s not fair that you can’t spend any time with your friends, you’re just stuck in the dungeon with him all the time.” Ginny had rounded fully on Harry, her voice angry now.

Hermione had reached out to stop her tirade but just dropped her hand and scooted back a bit, knowing that whatever was coming wasn’t going to be particularly pleasant. Even Ron seemed to have an inkling as he gulped the last of his pumpkin juice and sat back, arms crossed over his chest.

“And what Ginny, have him sit off in the corner while I gossip with everyone about the latest school scandal?” Harry’s retort was sharp, his dark brows drawing down over his vivid eyes. “Has it occurred to you that maybe I don’t care to sit in the middle of all that? That he’s not holding me hostage, and I like being in the dungeon where its quiet and no one bothers me?”

“Oh, is that what we are then, Harry? Just a bother to you? Great to know that you haven’t really wanted to spend time with any of us, you just **had** to.” Ginny’s face had twisted in anger, her voice turning nasty.

Harry looked taken aback, a small flash of hurt crossing his face.

“Oi, what’s got your knickers in a twist then?” Ron broke in, his expression unhappy.

His sister spun on him. “Nothing Ronald, I’m just tired of being ignored by you three. You’re all always off running around, and now that Harry’s had to move in with the greasy git, I don’t see any of you anymore.” A thread of hurt was in her voice as she looked down at the table.

Hermione started to speak, hearing the hurt and wanting to reassure her friend that they weren’t purposely ignoring her when Harry broke in.

“Don’t call him that.” His voice had dropped, and he said it quietly but very seriously, staring the younger woman down. He stood abruptly, nodding to both her and Ron before he strode off toward the high table, Snape standing to meet him with a concerned look on his face. They turned and walked together out of the hall, falling into step easily, Snape’s long hair swinging forward as he bent to speak quietly to Harry.

Hermione just sighed, looking tiredly at Ginny, who was staring after Harry’s retreating back with a baffled look on her face. This was the last thing they needed. She had tried to convince the youngest Weasley that her crush was a bad idea and that she really should let it go when they had spoken over the Christmas holiday.

“Ginny, I told you to leave him alone,” Ron said suddenly, his pale blue eyes sparking with anger. “I know you’ve had that stupid crush on him since you were six or something, but I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that he’s not interested.”

Hermione felt her brows rising. She hadn’t realised that Ron had spoken to Ginny as well. It made her feel considerably better about telling the other woman to let go of her dream of marrying the Boy Who Lived. The sad part was that Hermione could almost see Harry agreeing to it, even if she didn’t make him happy if only to make himself feel like a real part of the Weasley family.

But that was before Snape, before he had spent every waking and sleeping moment with someone who, strangely enough, actually balanced his personality out startlingly well.

Now Hermione couldn’t imagine Harry settling for anything less than the kind of connection he was forming with the Potions Master. Frankly, she was beginning to think that he wouldn’t settle for anything less than Severus himself, but that was something to think about a different day, with a fair amount of alcohol readily available. And maybe Malfoy to represent the Slytherin side and commiserate with her.

“It’s not like I’m trying to trap him, Ron, I just want to spend time with him, he’s my friend too you know.” Ginny’s face was flushed, the pink in her cheeks making her look more attractive, unlike Hermione, who always just looked a bit splotchy.

“And your sudden need to spend time with your friend has nothing to do with Dean not speaking to you, does it?” her brother asked in a knowing tone.

Ginny glared at him and pushed away from the table, tilting the bench slightly in her haste.

“That’s not fair, Ron. You don’t have to be such an arse about everything,” she snapped before marching off, anger making her stride stiff.

“Bloody hell, why couldn’t she have been closer in age to any of the others? Why do I have to deal with her?” Ron asked plaintively.

“Well really normally she’s much more reasonable than this. I just think she’s spent a lot of years waiting around for Harry to notice her, and she’s finally figuring out that he’s not going to, no matter what she does.” Hermione responded.

Ron gave her a shrewd look, reminding her abruptly that he wasn’t as absent minded and bumbling he so regularly came off as.

“You see it too then?” he asked quietly, nodding his head toward the doorway that Harry and Snape had walked through.

She just nodded, eyeing him warily. She knew that the wizarding world was different, that they couldn’t care less about who you married as far as gender or race were concerned, only blood status and money played a part, and even then only with the old families. But Ron had hated Snape for years, and she couldn’t imagine him being overjoyed that Harry wanted to spend time with the older wizard.

Ron sighed heavily, slumping. “I had hoped I’d gone a bit mad. He just can’t make anything easy on himself, can he?” he suddenly gave a small snort of laughter. “At least it’s not Malfoy. I don’t think I could handle having to see the Ferret that often.”

Hermione felt her face flush, inexplicably uncomfortable. She got a narrow eyed look of suspicion as she quickly stood and gathered her books for class, turning to hurry away without looking back. She wasn’t sure she would know what to do with the assessing look she could feel aimed at her.

* * *

Harry marched along, anger still rolling through him, Severus matching him stride for stride. The ended up in the Defense classroom faster than he had anticipated, a good half hour before the class was supposed to start. They had a fourth year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw class coming in first that morning and didn’t need any real set up since they would have a quiz.

Severus turned him slightly, aiming him toward the attached office. He walked in, still upset but calming somewhat when he saw that somehow Tippy had known and already had a pot of strong coffee waiting for them. Neither had been sleeping well, partially from worry about Malfoy, but mostly from their visit to Dumbledore on Monday after his release from the hospital wing.

Severus had mentioned that the Headmaster had stopped by and wanted to see them. They had gone up to his office after a quick exchange of paper aeroplanes to confirm.

When they arrived, Dumbledore already had the pensieve out, a small vial of silvery memories sitting beside it. The Headmaster had proceeded to explain that they would be looking into the memory of Morfin Gaunt, Voldemort's uncle. When Dumbledore turned to Severus to explain further, the tall man had held up a hand to stop him and turned to Harry instead.

Harry had gone through the previous two memories briefly, knowing he would be going through them in detail later and explained that Dumbledore had wanted him to understand Voldemort better. Severus had given Dumbledore a positively suspicious look but had gone willingly into the pensieve with them.

They watched the memory of Gaunt being framed for the murder of Tom Sr. and Voldemort's grandparents, along with the theft of the family ring. Severus had startled when he saw the ring, and he barely had time to wave goodbye to the Headmaster before Severus dragged him out of the room.

They had spent the rest of the night awake, going over the previous memories and patching together what they could. Severus had been shocked to find out that Riddle was a halfblood and had murdered so many people so young. Harry had mentioned that he had killed Moaning Myrtle with the Basilisk much earlier.

Severus had gone a little mad at that, apparently having been told that the diary had some kind of imperius spell but not anything about it trying to kill Ginny. Dumbledore had conveniently not mentioned the Basilisk at all, letting the staff believe that Ginny Weasley had been imperioused by a cursed artifact and had petrified students herself.

A ward over the door to prevent Severus from marching out to find the Headmaster and several glasses of firewhiskey later Harry had told him the full story, Severus’ long fingers returning, again and again, to trace carefully over the knot of scar tissue on Harry’s arm from the Basilisk fang.

They stayed up most of the following two nights as well, trying to work out what information they each had, and correct anything they had missed. It seemed that the most significant issue had been the Basilisk, though Severus hadn’t gotten the full story about the final chamber in his first year either.

Harry also learned about Severus’s vow about Dumbledore, which caused a small round of yelling in the early hours of Thursday morning. Harry was still mad about it but had been too tired to keep up the argument at the time. They’d only gotten a few hours of sleep before dragging themselves to the Great Hall.

“Harry..” Severus started, exhaustion in his voice.

Harry held a hand up, anger warring with his need for more sleep, blinking himself back into the present. His eyes felt gritty, and everything seemed oddly surreal.

“No, I’m allowed to mad at someone right now, you should just be grateful it’s not currently you,” he said, cutting the older man off.

Severus gave him a considering look before raising his hands in surrender and pouring them both coffee, dropping cream, and a spoonful of sugar into each cup.

“What did the Weasley girl say?” Severus asked after he had settled into his chair behind his desk.

“Nothing important just got on my nerves. Ginny is my friend, but she’s been pushing to spend more time with me, and honestly, I don’t have time for whatever it is she’s after.” Harry cradled his mug to his chest, taking small sips of the hot liquid.

Snape gave him an incredulous look. “Whatever it is she’s after? Come on, Potter, you’re not that dense.”

Harry just blinked at him in confusion and shrugged.

“You, you idiot, she’s after you. To date. I imagine to take home and marry if she had her way. Wife of the Boy Wonder.” Severus responded, a vicious edge to his voice.

Harry just stared at him, the words taking a moment to process, the look on Severus’ face getting darker and darker.

Harry burst out laughing, putting his coffee down on Severus’ desk and resting his forehead on his knees, trying to get a grip on himself.

It really wasn’t that funny, but it did explain a few things. Frankly, it was a relief to know what was wrong with her. She’d been odd with him for months now, and even if it was inconvenient, he could at least address it now.

“Are you quite alright? You seem to have gone a bit hysterical on me,” Severus said, leaning over the desk to look down at Harry.

Harry sat up, waving him off as he grabbed his mug and settled back into his chair.

“I’m fine, that just explains a lot about how weird she’s been this year.”

“You honestly didn’t realise? Are you still blind, I had thought we had taken care of that.”

“Hilarious. You’re a real riot you know?” Harry said sarcastically, getting a smug look in return.

“Can we talk about something that doesn’t involve awkward romantic notions from my best mates sister?” he asked a bit desperately.

“Certainly. But I’m surprised. I assumed you would be thrilled to learn that the one female in the family you are already practically adopted into was interested in you.” Snape’s voice was carefully casual, his eyes fixed on the small ring his coffee had left on the desk.

Harry snorted. “Hardly. Ginny is perfectly nice, but I’ve always seen her as more of a sister. Besides, if we did date and it didn’t work out, can you imagine the fallout of that? Even if I was interested, which I’m not, I wouldn’t want to go anywhere near that mess.”

Severus looked oddly pleased with this, and Harry was just opening his mouth to ask why it was that he was so interested in Harry’s nonexistent love life when they heard the classroom door open and realised students were filing in.

Severus sighed but got up, downing his coffee before straightening his robes and heading toward the open door.

“Are you joining me for this lesson?” he paused in the doorway, looking back at Harry.

Harry shook his head as he got up to steal Severus’ seat behind the desk and draw out his charms book.

“No, I’ve got to get through the essay Flitwick assigned if I’m going to have time for anything else.”

Severus nodded and swept out, shutting the door behind himself to give Harry a quieter space to work in.

They made it through the rest of the day without incident, dragging themselves back to their rooms after dinner. All Harry wanted to do was sleep, but he couldn’t stay silent any longer about the ridiculous vow Severus had finally admitted to early that morning.

They settled onto the couch, neither bothering to get out work or grading, too tired to do anything but sit for a moment.  
“I’m not going to just ignore this, you know.” Harry broke the silence. “I can’t believe you agreed to kill Dumbledore and didn’t tell me. And then you went and made it where you had to, or you’d die? What were you thinking?”

Severus stiffened at his side, scooting forward to the edge of the couch.

“I would remind you, Potter, that I’m hardly answerable to you. I did what was best at the time. I ensured that I would continue to be trusted,” his voice was tight and cold, black eyes angry.

“And a fat lot of good that did you. You got found out anyway, and now you’ve got to murder the Headmaster just to stay alive.” Harry felt his tiredness fading, the same burning anger he’d felt last night taking its place.

“You say that like it’s some kind of revelation. Do you think his will be the first murder I’ve committed? This is at least a mercy, and it saves Draco from tainting his soul in such a way.” Severus had turned away, his voice wavering only slightly.

Harry sat there, a horrible feeling in his chest. He had known, of course, that Severus was once a willing Death Eater. He’d seen the man’s Dark Mark often enough not to forget it. Severus had stopped trying to hide it from him months ago, and he was almost used to it now.

Harry was just having trouble making the connection between Severus as a Death Eater and the man he was, now that Harry had gotten to know him. He didn’t doubt that Snape could kill someone, had killed someone, but it seemed wrong to him on a visceral level that he could have done so to an innocent. The man had a streak of honor, he kept carefully hidden, and for the first time, Harry found himself wondering if that hadn’t always been the case.

“You seem to have forgotten who exactly I was” Severus broke into his thoughts, turning to face Harry with a bitter look. “Perhaps I should remind you more often in case you start getting too comfortable.”

Harry pulled away from the taller man, his jaw clenched tight. He knew well enough now that this was the response he should expect when he pushed too hard, or on something that made the other man feel guilty. It took very little for Severus’ self hatred to well up and Harry had seen him push people away too many times not to know what it looked like, he was just too angry and confused to care at the moment.

“I know exactly who you are, Snape. You think that I’m what, just ignoring all the horrible shit you’ve done over the years? To everyone? To me?” Harry stood, anger making him need to move.

“It doesn’t mean I like it, but it’s not something I think about constantly either. Do you want that to be all I think of you? Is that what you’re aiming for here?”

“Maybe it should be. As you said, it’s not as if you could ignore all of the horrible things I’ve done.” Snape stood abruptly, his robes swirling around him as he stalked into his lab and slammed the door shut, wards snapping into place so rapidly that a small wave of magic swept through the room, shoving Harry’s hair back.

“Shit,” Harry muttered into the sudden silence of the room. He slumped back onto the couch, trying to get a hold of his anger. He had worked so hard this year to keep it restrained, and for the most part, he had done better than he expected, but he shouldn’t ever have let himself forget that no one in the world could set him off the way Severus could.

He could feel the swirl of rage trying to well back up as he thought of the last few conversations they’d had and tangled his hands in his hair in frustration. Why would he do something so stupid? Was he trying to get himself killed?

Harry stared at the ceiling, his head tilted back at an awkward angle as he listened for any indication that there was another person in their rooms. Still, Severus had obviously put up strong silencing charms. With a groan of frustration, Harry finally gave in and got up to toss a handful of floo powder into the fire.

“Gryffindor Tower,” he said into the now green flames. The chatter of a large group drifted through the fire as he knelt and stuck his head through, turning to look for Hermione in her usual spot but finding it empty.

“Harry! You coming up soon?” Neville smiled at him from one of the overstuffed red chairs, a textbook open on his lap.

“Yeah, maybe. Hey, have you seen ‘Mione around?” Harry asked, looking for bushy hair in the nearby groups.

“Yeah, she was just here. I think she went up to the dorm, let me go see.”

“Thanks, mate,” Harry replied as Neville got up and wandered over to yell up the staircase to the girl's dorm. A second later, his best friend appeared, coming down the stairs to chat with Neville before turning to look sharply at the fire.

She hurried over, kneeling in front of the grate, so he didn’t have to strain his neck.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Why does there have to be something wrong?” Harry responded, slightly indignant.

Hermione just looked at him, eyebrow raised.

“Fine, there’s something wrong. Can you come through?”

Hermione didn’t bother responding, just shooed him back out of her way. She stepped through the fire just as he sat back on the couch, the spot at his side conspicuously empty.

Her eyes flicked up to the closed lab door before she sighed and sat down beside him.

“What happened?”

Harry dropped his head into his hands but explained, telling her about everything that had happened from the point he had woken in the hospital wing.

Hermione looked thoughtful at the end, tapping her blunt nails against her knee as she considered how to respond.

“So why exactly are you so angry?” she finally asked, breaking the silence of the room.

“Because he should have told me. Because Dumbledore is making him murder him and he went and swore a fucking vow that could kill him,” Harry burst out, his head snapping up to look at her.

“And what would you have done differently if you had been in his place?” she said mildly.

“I- I don’t know, something.” Harry felt some of his anger fall away, realising how ridiculous he sounded. He didn’t know what he would have done differently. He probably would have sworn that stupid vow too, and he’d already gone and promised Dumbledore he would kill Voldemort. He didn’t have much room to judge.

“Fine, I probably would have done the same thing, except maybe gotten myself killed when Bellatrix showed up,” Harry muttered.

“Were you upset about him taking the vow, or are you just upset he did something that could get him killed?” she asked it quietly, the gentle understanding in her eyes reminding him why he had called her in the first place.

The same desperate anger welled in him at her words, anger that he could show that kind of disregard for his life, that he hadn’t even told Harry that he could die.

He sighed heavily, finally feeling like he had a grasp on himself, his rolling emotions settling down.

“Thanks ‘Mione,” he said quietly, leaning into her shoulder. She patted his arm gently, sitting with him for a few minutes before she stirred.

“You should talk to him. I’ll speak to Narcissa when I see her in a couple of days. I know Dumbledore wrote a letter, but I’ll see if I can get her to agree to dissolve the vow before I leave.”

“Thank you. I don’t know what I would do without you.” Harry said, grateful beyond words for the woman that had willingly shared so much of his life.

“Fail a lot of classes and die horribly, I suspect.” She answered cheerfully, climbing to her feet as Harry shot her a reproachful look.

The smile that had graced her face fell for a second, a serious look taking its place.

“Harry, I meant to speak with you,” she looked suddenly uncomfortable, something that he rarely saw.

He motioned for her to keep talking, not knowing what could possibly make her uncomfortable. She had once sat him down and had a safe sex talk with him and had looked less bothered.

“It’s just that I know that you and Snape are getting along, most of the time at least, and I know that you care for him, and I think he cares for you just as much, and I just don’t want anyone to get hurt,” she said in a rush, not making a great deal of sense.

“Of course, I care about him ‘Mione. I’d hardly be upset about him doing something that could get him killed if I didn’t, and if he wasn’t at least a little fond of me, he’d have probably smothered me by now,” Harry responded, confusion clear in his voice.

She gave him a frustrated look but just shook her head. “Just be careful, Harry. From what I gather, he’s not had many people in his life and not anyone as close as you are.”

He had a sharp flashback to that first day in the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey’s cryptic warning about scars and suddenly felt like he understood a little better what the mediwitch had been trying to tell him.

He knew, of course, that Severus was a lonely person, had known it abstractly for years, and with much more certainly since he had been around him. It just hadn’t struck him until that second exactly how alone he really was.

Harry had gotten upset and immediately reached out to someone he knew could help and would be there for him. Severus had retreated, locking himself in his lab, isolating himself further.

Harry’s musings were interrupted by a kiss across his cheek as Hermione gave him a smile and a small shove toward the closed lab door before she turned and ducked back into the Gryffindor common room.

Harry sighed and moved toward the lab to see if he could pry a certain stubborn Slytherin out.


	9. Chapter 9

_Now I see you, 'till kingdom come_   
_you're the one I want_   
_to see me for all_   
_the stupid shit I've done._

-Blind Pilot, 3 Rounds and a Sound

Severus paced restlessly back and forth along the L of his work table, not able to make himself sit still and not trusting himself to brew anything in his exhausted state correctly.

He shouldn’t have argued with Harry. Severus knew that he wouldn’t take the news of the vow well. He had expected him to yell, to throw accusations. If nothing else, he had learned how much Harry hated having the people in his life put themselves in danger, as much of a hypocrite as that might make him.

Severus ran his hands over his face in frustration, his palms scraping over his stubble. Harry hadn’t even focused on the part he had assumed would cause the most issues, the whole Dumbledore and his roundabout suicide. Perhaps he was just in denial and refusing to acknowledge it, though that wasn’t how Potter operated.

Severus had gone so far as to promise himself that he would deal with whatever fight started in an adult manner, only to fall into snapping at each other as soon as the issue arose.

The cold of his lab was seeping through the thin button down shirt he wore, having discarded his robes when he got back to their rooms. He never applied warming charms to the lab as a whole, wanting no interference for the times he needed to control the temperatures on his cauldrons absolutely. His boot heels cracked with sharp echoes, the sound seeming crisper in the chilly air.

He didn’t like Harry telling him what he should or shouldn’t do. He’d never had anyone take him to task quite like that. Neither Dumbledore or the Dark Lord ever truly questioned his methods, only the results.

A fresh surge of bitterness made him pause, the look on Harry’s face just before he had left the room flashing up. Of course, Harry hadn’t just forgotten what he had been like, what he had done. He was a fool to have let himself believe for even a moment that his past could be overlooked. His face twisted into a sneer, disgust at himself welling up.

His jaw clenched as he pulled his left sleeve up and stared down at the Mark that had defined so much of his life. It was incredible how small decisions snowballed, sweeping away all the possible versions of himself that never would be. Instead of the greatness he had once imagined for himself, he had come out tumbled and worn, nothing left of him but rough edges and dust.

Severus was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed the push of magic against his wards. He spun with a snarl, raising his wand to reinforce the door if needed, but paused when nothing else happened. He knew that Harry was strong enough to break through with brute force, though with Severus working on repairs, it would take him hours to get in.

He stood there, thin chest rising and falling rapidly, waiting for the shove against his magic that was sure to come. He waited until his heels started to go a bit numb, and he finally sat down on his stool.

Severus frowned. If Harry wasn’t trying to break in, then what the hell had that been?

He almost hexed himself when he realised how much of an idiot he was being. He had silencing wards up, he couldn’t hear anything, including a knock, so Harry had knocked the only way he could and was likely waiting around outside for Severus to stop throwing a fit.

Severus just sighed, slumping down as weariness made his headache. Maybe Harry would just let it go for tonight, would just let him sleep if he asked nicely.

He moved to the door, warily, and slowly opened it. The front room was dim, the fire already banked, and it was later than he had thought. He looked around but didn’t see Harry and moved to walk silently to the bedroom, hoping to find the other man already close to sleep.

“Hey,” a soft voice came out of the darkness, making Severus freeze. He turned to look and found a shadowy shape sitting up on the couch.

“Can you come here for a minute, please?” Harry asked when it became apparent that Severus was possibly planning on remaining in the middle of the room for the rest of the night.

Severus walked reluctantly over to Harry, perching stiffly on the edge of the couch and staring straight into the dying embers of the fire. He wasn’t going to apologize. Severus still felt like he had done exactly what he had to, even if he did regret the outcome.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you, and I shouldn’t have tried to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do. I’m sure if I had been in your position, I would have made the same choices.”

Severus turned to look at Harry in surprise, unconsciously shifting slightly closer, the soft plaid couch blanket bunching up between them. The fire illuminated one side of Harry’s face, throwing the stubble on his wide jaw into relief and creating pools of shadows in his eyes.

“It scared me. It scared me that you had made this deal that could have got you killed, and you hadn’t even told me about it. I know it sounds stupid, but I don't know what I would have done if you just dropped dead in the middle of the day, if your vow killed you before you could do anything about it.” Harry was running his hands along his thighs, his hair messier than usual, and the sleeves of his sweatshirt stretched where he had pulled them over his hands again and again.

“I imagine you would have been rather overjoyed to be free,” Severus said before he could stop himself, wincing slightly as soon as the words left his mouth. He just couldn’t damn well help himself, could he?

Harry tilted his head and looked at him, green eyes looking almost as dark as his own in the low light, an inscrutable expression on his face.

“Do you truly believe that? That I would be happier without you?” Harry asked, no hint of anger in his voice.

Severus shifted uncomfortably, his long fingers pulling at a stray thread on the edge of the couch cushion.

“I don’t know Potter. It’s not like this has been a vacation for you, and I’m hardly someone you’d choose to spend time with.”

“Would you be happier without me?”

There was something vulnerable in the younger man’s voice, and he knew in that instant that if he told him yes, whatever confusing thing it was that they had been slowly piecing together over the last several months would vanish like smoke. He would go back to his safe distance, his lonely life for as long as he had it, and in the end, perhaps Harry wouldn’t be all that upset to lose him.

Severus opened his mouth to give Harry a sharp yes, decision made, and heard his treacherous voice scratch out a small and defeated “No.”

“And I wouldn’t be happier without you. I am sorry I started a fight over all of this, but you’re going to have to get used to someone else worrying about you, alright?” a gentle hand landed on his arm, fingers tightening slightly.

Severus just nodded stiffly, horrified by his selfishness. He had let his opportunity slip past, unwilling to lose Harry any sooner than he had to and surely making it worse for him in the end.

Harry sighed and stood up, stretching before heading in to get ready for bed. Severus watched him, not for the first time wondering what exactly he had gotten himself into. He consistently found himself baffled by the other man, and he had started to suspect that whatever they had between them was heading in a direction he wasn’t comfortable considering.

He climbed to his feet and flicked his wand, changing his robes to pyjamas. He was too tired to change and just didn’t care right then. He slid into bed and barely managed to hang onto consciousness long enough for Harry to join him. The last thing he could remember was the warm press a body against his and the soft click of metal meeting.

* * *

Hermione landed in front of the safe house, the wind off the ocean sweeping her cloak to the side and pinning her robes against her jean clad legs. She hurried up the rock path, holding her flyaway hair back from her face with one hand and noting that the rosemary bush had been trimmed back slightly after its run in with Harry.

She rapped sharply on the door, waiting impatiently for the woman to answer it. She was half tempted to just walk in since Harry did say she could have it. It was more her house than Narcissa’s anyway.

The heavy red door swung open, revealing the Malfoy Matron standing stiffly in the entryway. She stepped back, wordlessly clearing room for Hermione to come in. She hung her cloak and scarf up before following Narcissa further into the house.

They settled into the living room, Narcissa floating in a tray of tea and setting it on the driftwood table. Hermione was happy to see that the woman hadn’t redecorated anything; she would have been upset to see the little house lose its charm to cold, sterile decor.

Hermione dug through her backpack, carefully removing a bag full of dented and broken items for portkeys. Next came the carefully packed boxes of ingredients Snape had sent along, a small notebook with the requested potions, and his personal recipes landing atop them. Food for the next week was sent sailing into the kitchen to be put away later.

Lastly, she pulled out the small care package that Draco had left for her to take and handed it directly to Narcissa.

“From Draco,” she explained at the woman’s puzzled look. Her pale blue eyes softened immediately, and she carefully opened it, an excited look crossing her stern features.

A roll of parchment came out first, obviously a letter, followed by something made from silk so delicate that it flowed like water. Finally, a tiny gold box that looked to hold several very fancy truffles was set down beside the cloth.

Narcissa carefully tucked the parchment up her sleeve before turning to look at Hermione.

“Here, these are about as many updates as we have right now. He’s supposed to be back at Hogwarts by Monday.” Hermione held out a stack of Daily Prophets, the latest on top showing a full color front page picture of Harry, beaten and bleeding on the floor of the Great Hall.

They had carefully leaked Colin’s photo to the press via the sixth year Slytherins, who were only too happy to steal it from Colin and take it directly to Skeeter. The article below was speculative trash, mostly angling to blame teachers for allowing Harry to get hurt as if a few bruises and broken bones were the worst he’d had happen at Hogwarts.

Narcissa raised a blond eyebrow at them but set them to the side anyway.

“Do you have any other news?” her cold voice was detached, obviously hoping to get rid of her unwelcome guest as quickly as possible.

Hermione pulled out the letter from Dumbledore and handed it over. Narcissa looked at it curiously but set it down in her small pile.

“There is a request we’re making of you, and I believe you’ll find it in Dumbledore’s letter as well, but I wanted to address it too.” Hermione took a deep breath before continuing.

“You currently hold an unbreakable vow from Snape to assist Draco in his task for Voldemort. We want you to release him.”

Narcissa sat very still, her eyes widening slightly before they narrowed dangerously. The only sound in the room was the lonely whistle of the wind whipping around the corner of the house and battering a loose shutter. The welcoming scent of tea and burning wood seemed out of place in the cozy home with this cold woman.

“No”

A long pause followed as Hermione tried to process her refusal of what should have been a simple request.

“No? What do you mean, no?” Hermione said, her voice incredulous, her fingers twitching across her wand.

“No, I won’t release him. He agreed to it to keep Draco safe, and I’m hardly in a position to help my son. I won’t strip away any of his protection,” the older witch answered sharply.

“It could kill him,” Hermione just stared, unable to wrap her mind around the woman’s refusal.

“Not if he adheres to it. You will not convince me otherwise. If I need to leave this place and flee to not be beholden to the Order, I will do so, but I refuse to give up any of Draco’s protections.” Her voice held a frightening finality.

“If he dies it won’t matter if you’re hiding with the Order or not, Harry will find you,” Hermione said it without thinking, her mind spinning.

Narcissa snorted delicately, “I hardly think threatening me with a teenage boy is going to cow me.”

“I’m not threatening you. I’m telling you that if that vow kills Severus after Harry wins the war and gets rid of Voldemort, he’ll come throw whatever is left of you into the sea.” Hermione answered, her voice flat.

For just an instant, Narcissa looked uncertain before her cold mask fell back into place.

“While I regret the necessity, I will not agree to anything that could harm Draco.” She looked almost guilty for an instant.

“If you could take this to my son, please.” The pale woman picked up a sealed scroll from the table beside her and handed it to Hermione, who tucked it into her bag without any sign of interest, her mind still reeling.

“You should reconsider,” Hermione said, getting up and straightening her robes with a careless flip of her hand, magic running with tight control despite having her wand tucked into her pocket.

“I believe that is all Ms. Granger. I appreciate you taking the time to come, and I look forward to your visit next week.” Narcissa said with perfect pureblood manners, no hint of feeling in her voice.

Hermione paused for an instant, her jaw tight, before turning on her heel and leaving. Harry was not going to be happy about this.

* * *

They made it through the weekend and all the way to Valentine’s day with only minor incidents, mostly revolving around Harry threatening to go have a conversation with Narcissa about her poor choices. He had been livid when Hermione had come back and told him what she’d said.

It had taken Severus reasoning with him and finally a glass of firewhiskey before he subsided into grumbling instead of actively planning ways to sneak out, which were considerably more difficult when you had a Professor attached to you.

They had resumed their occlumency lessons, with only slightly more luck than they’d had the previous year. Harry was at least able to keep Severus out of the parts of his mind he didn’t want anyone seeing but wasn’t able to block him completely. Severus was making them run through the drills every night with a near militant attitude, not wanting a repeat of the last incident.

Draco had returned with a surprising lack of fanfare, the only real notable change being the close to constant hexes they all sent flying at each other anytime they passed in the hall. Harry had gotten excellent at dodging, and his shielding had never been better. He’d had a good time with Hermione and Ron, digging out little known hexes that looked flashy but didn’t do much harm.

His personal favorite was the one that made all of the victim's limbs fall asleep at once. Malfoy had dropped like he’d been stunned and had to sit in the hall, shaking the pins from his arms and legs until well after class had started. It only took one of the other students of their year flapping their arms in a parody of him to make his cheeks pink and bring a scowl crashing over his face.

Valentine’s came around with its typical fanfare, ridiculous singing balloon hearts, and cards that roared out bawdy songs based on whoever opened them seemed to be everywhere, courtesy of the Weasley twins.

Harry spent the day dodging overzealous girls and boys alike and mostly managed to avoid everything. However, he did get cornered in Herbology by a small pack of balloons, all from different people but grouped together like hunting wolves.

Severus had thought it was hilarious for the first few minutes before he realised that they wouldn’t stop singing. After dispatching them with a bit more violence than was warranted, he had made it his personal mission for the remainder of the day to do away with any he encountered.

The whole castle was decorated in red and white, a seemingly endless amount of lace, glitter, and giggling girls spread throughout every room. Lunch saw no less than three students dosed with mild love potions and the spectacle of Pansy Parkinson attempting to climb into Draco’s lap, only to find herself forcibly removed by the scowling blond.

Harry finally gave up and dragged Snape to the dungeon after he made a third year girl cry when he exploded the singing balloon from her boyfriend.

They took refuge, electing to eat in their rooms and chat about Severus’ defense classes. Most were doing well, though his seventh years were having trouble with the Patronus charm. Unlike the sixth years and below, none of the seventh years had been in the DA, and so hadn’t had a chance to work with Harry.

Typically Harry stayed out of the seventh year classes since technically he was supposed to be behind them. In reality, he was easily well into first year masters work for defense, and they finally agreed that Harry would try to help with a couple of classes.

Harry was comfortably reclined, sifting through the candies he had gotten from Mrs. Weasley, Ron, and Hermione. He was carefully avoiding the package from Fred and George and making a pile of bits and pieces he knew Severus liked. His whole package of black licorice wands was suspiciously missing, which he knew were one of Severus’ favorites, but he had fully intended on taking at least one for himself before he handed them over.

He got up to search, just in case. He was leaning over the edge of the couch when he spotted a small box of chocolates that had fallen over. He frowned, not remembering them being in any of the packages, though they did look familiar. He shrugged and set them on his pile before resuming his search.

“Severus, have you seen my package of licorice wands?” he finally called.

Silence greeted him from the open door of the potions lab.

“No?” The hint of a question in the older wizard's voice was all the confirmation Harry needed.

He launched himself over the couch and through the door, bursting in to find a very guilty looking Severus stuffing something into his robes.

Harry grinned at him before lunging for his pocket. Severus twisted away with a sharp yelp and ducked behind the table, looking alarmed.

Harry shivered a bit, the cold of the stone floor making his sock clad feet ache. His thin t-shirt and comfortably worn jeans weren’t helping either. Severus was dressed in his heavy black wool robes and had both the advantage of height and boots. Harry narrowed his eyes, candy retrieval plans forming and being discarded almost as quickly.

“Potter, this is completely undignified. I demand you stop.” Black eyes were wide, but he had shifted his weight, firming his stance.

“Says the man who stole someone’s sweets,” Harry replied with a smile before he launched himself over the table, missing tackling Severus to the floor by a fingers width.

Harry spun, seeker fast, and snagged the sleeve of the other man’s severe robes, their momentum throwing them into the dungeon wall.

Harry took ruthless advantage of his better position and wrestled the opened package from Severus’ pocket. He danced away, waving it gleefully and smiling widely.

Severus lightly shoved the chortling Gryffindor when he danced back into reach and took back the candy when Harry held it out to him.

Harry had snagged a single piece and handed the rest over, never having intended to keep it. Severus gave him a dirty look but took a long bit out to chew on.

“Was that completely necessary?” Snape asked, looking rumpled.

“Yes, it absolutely was. You don’t just steal a man’s sweets and not expect him to fight back,” Harry answered cheerfully, his t-shirt slightly askew and his hair sticking up in every direction.

“I’ll remember that the next time the chocolate biscuits go missing,” Severus replied darkly.

Harry just laughed and wandered back out to the sitting room, flopping onto the couch and picking up the small fancy looking chocolates that had tried to escape under the table. He grabbed one, noticing it had an oddly sickly sweet filling before his whole world vanished into a soft haze.

* * *

He only noticed something was wrong when he felt a tug on his bracelet. Severus frowned down at it, wondering if Harry had dozed off on the couch. He set down the bundle of angelica he had been prepping and went to investigate.

He opened the door he had closed after he had been assaulted for his purloined licorice and found the sitting room empty, his wrist tugging more insistently toward the outer door.

Alarmed, he called for Harry, not getting a response as he glanced in their bedroom and bath, but couldn’t find the other man.

Truly worried now, he hurried out into the hall, following the tug of his link to Harry, and was almost running by the time he had made it to the Great Hall. There was some kind of commotion, loud voices, and a group of people all huddled around the Gryffindor table. Wherever there was chaos, there was a fair bet Harry was nearby.

He frowned, uneasiness creeping through him. Harry wouldn’t just leave without him, and he didn’t like the large crowd blocking his view of the other man.

“Move you idiots,” his voice cracked out, louder than he had intended but effective. The crowd parted quickly, worried faces looking at him as Harry was revealed, kneeling at the feet of a fourth year Gryffindor who looked utterly thrilled.  
It took him a moment, but he recognized her. She was part of the chattering group that giggled whenever Harry was in the Defense room helping. And she was the one who had asked Harry to Slughorn’s party that day in Hogsmeade. Vane, Romilda Vane, his confused brain supplied.

Harry was muttering something, and it took the crowd quieting down for him to finally hear.

“You’re so beautiful, Romilda. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. You should marry me, I promise I would make a good husband.” Harry said, his green eyes glassy and fixed on her face.

Severus felt his skin crawl, realising with a sinking feeling what must have happened.

“You dare to dose a fellow student with something as dangerous as amortentia Ms. Vain?” he hissed, stalking closer. Nothing short of amortentia would do this to Harry. The man was shockingly resistant to mind control.

The idiot girl finally looked away from the sight of Harry Potter on his knees in front of her, her face paling when she saw who was speaking.

“I didn’t…” she started to stutter but trailed off at the thunderous look on her Professor's face.

Severus strode forward and forcibly picked Harry up, making him stand. He didn’t realise until he saw it how much he would hate the sight of Harry kneeling to anyone. It wasn’t in the man to submit and certainly not to some teenage chit who thought she could force him.

Harry looked confused, but when he saw Severus, his eyes cleared a bit, and he smiled.

“Severus, have you met Romilda?” His voice was distant, and he swayed slightly.

“I have. I’ll be getting to know her considerably better, but for now, you need to come with me. You can tell me more about her, alright?” Severus replied gently, steering Harry toward the dungeons.

The younger man frowned a bit but walked with him, leaning into his side.

“She’s very pretty.” Oddly this seemed to trouble him, some of the blankness seeping away. “I don’t think I like pretty, though. It’s not interesting. Interesting is better.” His voice slurred a bit, and he poked Severus in the chest in emphasis.

“If you say so. I find I rather like pretty,” he answered absently, trying to navigate the stairs with a man that seemed to only be distantly connected to his sock clad feet.

“Do you like Romilda?” this was said in a stage whisper into his ear, Harry titling alarmingly into him.

“No, you idiot I don’t fancy a fourth year girl,” Severus gave him an appalled look, which rather missed its mark as Harry was smiling at him again. His hand came up and patted Severus’ cheek carefully.

“Good. I don’t think I’d like her much if you did,” Harry murmured as he swung himself off the final stair, only stumbling slightly.

Severus stopped, blinking in what he feared was a rather stupid way as his brain tried to make sense of that. Harry was dosed with a love potion keyed to Vane, why on earth would he not like _her_?  
A small crash as Harry tripped over the foot of a suit of armor and knocked its halberd over brought his eyes back up in alarm.

He snapped back to himself and hurried forward, catching Harry just before he careened into the wall. Arms flung themselves around his shoulders, and Harry pressed his face into Severus’ neck, muttering "dizzy" over and over.

Severus paused for a second, his hand running slowly over Harry’s back as he tried to help him regain some of his balance. That girl would regret ever considering dosing anyone, though he did need to know who she’d acquired the potion from. He would have to hold onto his temper until he had got at least that from her.

They finally managed to weave their way down the hall, and back to their rooms with only two more short stops, the last from Harry bending over to throw up just under the portrait of a horrified milkmaid who shrieked and ran for safety to the wooded forest canvas next to her.

Two quick doses of potions that Severus was lucky to have on hand, and Harry started coming back to himself, the glassiness in his eyes fading. He would feel at least some of the effects until the following morning, and as much as Severus wanted to go deal with the girl, he wasn’t going to leave Harry unattended. The man was a flight risk.

After some wrestling with a nightshirt and one of the most interesting rounds of teeth brushing Severus had ever taken part in, he settled Harry into bed. The younger man flopped around rather comically, twisting the blankets into an incomprehensible mass in seconds.

Severus just shook his head but quickly got ready for bed and climbed in next to his moderately inebriated companion. Harry wiggled around and did a fair imitation of the giant squid, wrapping himself around him as soon as Severus had stilled.

He stayed still, waiting for Harry to drift off before he could begin trying to untangle himself. Just before his breathing evened out, he muttered a soft, “You smell so nice,” into Severus’ throat, making the older man’s eyes widen.

Severus stayed there for a long time, unable to sleep. His brain spun around, trying to find some kind of explanation that made any sense at all. He was still staring at the ceiling in confusion when he finally drifted off, unease rolling through him for one simple fact.

Amortentia not only smelled like what attracted someone, it made them focus on the scents they found most attractive.

* * *

The next several weeks came and went faster than Harry realised and before he knew it, Ron’s birthday had passed, a small celebration lasting late into the night in Gryffindor tower, and then they were just two weeks shy of Easter Holidays. Severus had been odd for several days after Harry had been dosed with the love potion. He seemed to get back to his normal grumpy self after assigning Romilda two months of detention with Filch and dropping Gryffindor by a full 100 points with a particularly vicious smile.

They continued to work on occlumency, and Harry was slowly getting a better grip on it, able to keep Severus out the majority of the time now. He still had trouble keeping his shields up consistently and was susceptible to attack when he was distracted. As a result, more than one of his classes had been interrupted by Severus, whipping around and slamming into his mind when he least expected it.

They kept up their defense practice, sporadically getting better, but only when they were separated by several lengths and didn’t have to work directly together. Severus was still frustrated that they seemed to spend more time tripping each other than anything else, especially since they could maneuver just fine near each other outside of dueling.

It was a dreary grey Wednesday afternoon when Severus finally seemed to reach the end of his patience. He had been in a temper all day, having had a group of third years knock over a tank with several fire salamanders. It had taken both of them the rest of the lesson to round all eight of them up, having sent the class outside and locked the doors to prevent any escapees or injuries.

Fourteen small fires and one set of ruined robes later, they had corralled all of the ember coloured lizards. By the time they got through dinner, where Hagrid had one too many brandies and nearly flattened Severus when he tipped sideways, the man was in an absolutely foul mood.

They had been in the room of requirement for almost an hour when Severus pulled up and shot out the charm to cease all movement from the castle generated attackers. Harry fell back, panting. He could feel the sweat dripping down his neck and soaking the collar of his now scorched t-shirt. He had tossed his robes to the side the second they got to the room, having lost too many sets already this year. If he ordered any more he was likely to be accused of being as vain as Malfoy.

Severus was pacing the room, long legs eating up the ground in angry strides, his hawthorn wand a blur as he spun it around the long graceful fingers of his right hand. He was muttering to himself and gesturing angrily, appearing to argue with some invisible adversary.

Harry allowed himself to slump into a soft brown chair that appeared when he though rather pointedly about it. He knew better than to get in the way of the other man right now. Severus worked through his thoughts in peculiar ways, and when he was frustrated, his process could turn somewhat hazardous for nearby objects.

The angry clack of boots suddenly ceased, bringing Harry’s attention up.

“Potter why is it that you are one of the most successful quidditch players in Hogwarts history, a game that relies on grace, awareness of your surroundings, and working with others, yet we cannot seem to get within arms reach without toppling each other?” Snape’s long hair was damp with sweat, sticking to the side of his neck, and he had a small burn across his cheek, giving him a somewhat crazed look.

Harry frowned, about to answer that he had no idea when he stopped to consider a moment.

“Because I play the one position in quidditch that doesn’t require me to work around others. The most I have to do is dodge my teammates. And I have focus, my awareness is mediocre at best. How many times have you seen me almost taken out by a bludger?” Harry replied, his face falling into a puzzled look.

Severus crossed his arms over his chest, his expression considering, and his dark eyes glazed as he worked through the problem. Harry stayed quiet, knowing that look and knowing better than to interrupt. Severus would tell him when he was ready and breaking into his train of thought before that could result in a relatively unpleasant freezing hex.

“You’re terrible at dancing” Severus suddenly burst out, his voice louder than Harry had been expecting. Harry glared as he slapped a hand over his racing heart, not enjoying the shot of startled adrenaline.

“And you have an actual aversion to cheerful people. Are we pointing out each other's flaws for a reason, or is this just a fun new thing?” Harry answered sarcastically.

Severus gave him a flat look. “I hardly think we need to go down that particular path. Everyone would be exceptionally disappointed that we had made it so many months only to murder each other now.”

Harry grinned at him and waved for him to explain himself.

“You’re terrible at dancing. I remember now, the ball in your fourth year, during the tournament. You barely got through the opening dance without maiming your date.” Severus said, his voice strangely excited.

Before Harry could respond to the accurate but no less offensive evaluation of his dancing skills, Severus continued.

“I’ve been running off of the assumption that you have a fairly good grasp on working closely with others, and I’m afraid I was wrong. Yet again, Potter, your lack of ability astounds me.”

Harry made a rude gesture, “As if you’re any better, you wanker.”

Severus just quirked a small smile as he waved dismissively.

“I’m well aware that I don’t duel well with others, I’ve spent the last several months attempting to match myself to you because I had thought, with your quidditch training, you would have the baseline that I, simply put, do not.” Snape was back to pacing now, back and forth in front of Harry’s chair, his steps faster as he waved his hands around for emphasis.

Not for the first time, Harry found himself thinking that he looked like an excited bird, the sleeves of his robes flapping behind his arms as they twirled around him.

“If we work under the idea that neither of us has any idea, we may manage to get through duels without it killing us.” His black eyes sparkled in excitement.

Harry raised his eyebrows at the other man. “So what, we work some fancy steps out between us and hope we figure out how to move together without one of us landing on our arse?”

“In a way,” Severus’ face took on a look of cruel deviousness that made Harry’s palms sweat.

“I believe it is far past time, Mr. Potter, that you learn how to dance.”

Harry felt his jaw fall a bit loose, wondering if Severus had perhaps been bitten by one of the salamanders and was having an adverse reaction. Could a person be allergic to a salamander?

“There’s no better way to learn how to move around someone else effectively. I know for a fact that Auror partners used to use dancing together as practice long before dueling. It gives each person time to get used to the feel of their partners' magical aura before spell casting blurs the edges and makes it difficult to detect.”

Harry made a face but reluctantly nodded. He could admit that it sounded like a reasonable idea, though he hated everything about it immediately.

“Come on, up.” Severus walked over and held a hand out to Harry, his wand disappearing up his sleeve into its holster.

“Wait, we’re doing this now?” Harry could hear the panic in his voice. He was having flashbacks to fourth year and waltzing with McGonagall, her wrinkled face pinched in disapproval as he trod on her foot yet again.

“Did you have some other pressing engagement I was unaware of? Tea with the minister, perhaps?” Severus drawled.

Harry considered for a second whether tea with Scrimgeour would be preferable to the upcoming mockery he was sure to be subject to.

A sharp yank on his arm brought him back as he found himself standing in front of an impatient potions master. Severus tugged on his arm and drew him to the middle of the floor, now devoid of practice dummies, the only sign they had been there were scorch marks arcing over the polished marble.

“So what, we’re waltzing then?” Harry asked, only partially joking.

Severus glared at him before straightening his spine and squaring his shoulders.

“We’ll start with a few simple dances before we move on to actual pre-combat training. Since we are both familiar with the feel of each other's magic, I would say we could skip this part, but I fear your lack of coordination needs addressing.”

Harry gave him a wry look but stepped gamely forward. At least no one else was witness to his humiliation this time.

They took up a traditional waltzing stance, Snape in the lead, and Harry tried not to blush at the feeling of Severus’ arm around his waist. For some reason facing each other like this, under the bright lights of the room of requirement, was different. Every time he had found himself this close to Severus, it had always been quieter, darker, easier. Like they were a them rather than Potter and Snape.

Under the harsh lights, they stood stiffly, uncomfortable, separate, and distinct in their differences. It was like the strange disconnect he sometimes got when turning to a friend and suddenly remembering that they were a whole person in their own right and not just as they related to him.

Severus cleared his throat and moved forward, pushing Harry along suddenly, forcing him to try and scramble to remember the steps.

“Are we just dancing around in silence then? Cause it’s weird, and this is already weird enough.” Harry said, his attention caught on the clumsy movements of his feet, his steps starting a fraction too late.

Severus huffed but paused and waved his hand in a lazy swirl over his shoulder. A soft piano started up, seeming to bleed from the very walls, the keys low and melancholy. A faint flutter of violin threaded its way through, dancing just behind the piano, pushing the notes forward rather than overpowering them.

Harry blinked, taken off guard.

“This is beautiful,” he murmured as Severus pushed them to start again.

Thin lips quirked at the corner, black eyes crinkling just slightly in pleasure.

“It’s one of my favorite pieces. It never fails to inspire me.”

They moved slowly about the room, their steps missing any cohesiveness with the music, but Harry found that it didn’t dim his enjoyment of it at all. He found himself caught by the various pieces that Severus put on, his steps smoothing out as his attention was drawn elsewhere. Everything the man made the room play was darker, more minor pieces, but graceful and fiercely beautiful in a way that reminded him very much of Severus himself.

By the time they called it for the evening, they were both tired but much more relaxed. They had managed to make two full sweeps through the room without tripping each other or losing their stride, and both were ridiculously pleased with their small victory.

When they returned to their rooms, Harry prodded Severus into charming the walls to play the same pieces softly. He drifted off slumped on the couch, dreams of spinning with Severus through bright flashes of curses filling his head.

* * *

Draco stalked down the hallway to the common room with a group of his housemates, his steps less graceful than usual. His left arm radiated pain and had done since just before dinner. He hadn’t been able to sneak away when he was called, and Nott was insisting on a game of exploding snap, and Pansy was already starting the usual evening gossip.

Draco made sure he was present for it, as usual. He never knew when someone might let something slip that he could use. It was such an established part of his nightly routine it would seem odd if he missed it, so he sat quietly in a stiff backed chair near the fire, his teeth cutting into his cheek until he could taste blood, as he forced himself to sit still despite the flames licking their way across the dark mark.

He retreated to his bed early and pulled the hangings, claiming a headache, then sat cradling his arm carefully as he waited for his dorm mates to settle down and go to sleep. He tried to study but couldn’t concentrate, the discomfort dragging his attention back to the tender skin of his forearm. After two hours of waiting for Zambini to close his curtains and go to sleep, he finally broke and dragged the notebook Granger gave him out, needing a distraction, any distraction from the pain and boredom.

They’d written back and forth sporadically over the last several weeks, mostly concerning his Mother, though Granger was always short on details. When he pressed too many times about her lack of information she had written angrily back to him, the nib of her quill tearing the page in places. She had informed him under no uncertain terms that she had no intention of spending any more time than she absolutely had to with bigots, so her information would remain sparse.

They’d not spoken for nearly two weeks, and when they met in the hall, he couldn’t help but notice that the hexes Granger threw never missed, and they weren’t as harmless as some of the asinine ones Weasley or Potter tossed his way.

He had found himself wondering what in Merlin’s name his Mother had said since Granger typically was sickeningly forgiving, but she maintained her innocence when he inquired in their weekly letters.

When he opened the notebook, he saw the tight scrawl of Granger’s writing waiting for him already.

_ **Do you have anything for me to take this week?** _

It was short and perfunctory, the same sentence he received from her each week, and he found himself scowling at it. He hated being dismissed and Granger shouldn’t be so quick to treat him like just another chore. His dress shirt pulled tight across his shoulders as he leaned over to reply, his waistcoat crumpled next to him.

_Yes, I’ve left a package in the usual spot_

He paused before quickly scribbling.

_Any plans on casting that horrible sunburn curse again?_

He grimaced as he thought of the awful day last week when she’d caught him as he was coming out of Charms, and he hadn’t even had a chance to put a shield up. He’d spent the rest of the day in pain and bright red, not having been able to find a counter curse. He was half convinced she had invented it just for him.

He blinked in surprise as words started scrolling over the page. He had assumed she would be asleep by now or would ignore him like she had been when she wasn’t injuring him.

_ **Possibly. You’ll just need to work on your dodging. Harry got out of the way of that slime hex just fine.** _

He shot the notebook a nasty look at the reminder. He had been sure he had Potter, only to watch the shorter man shift out of the way so quickly he had been half convinced that he’d apparated. He rebalanced the notebook on his lap, his tightly tailored trousers not allowing him to tuck his feet under himself like he preferred.

_You can’t expect that of me, Potter is part pixie. Between the speed and the sheer amount of chaos he causes, it’s the only logical explanation._

There was a long enough pause before she started writing again that Draco found himself wondering if she’d taken his joke seriously, and began mentally bracing himself for another week of hexes out of nowhere.

_ **I hate to admit it but you may actually be onto something there.** _

He felt his lips quirk up despite the fresh wave of pain that rolled over his arm. New writing appeared before he could respond.

_ **I never got a chance to ask, how was the week you were gone?** _

The small smile dropped off his face as he shuddered at the memory of the hellish week he’d spent at the manor. His skin crawled and he could almost feel the Dark Lord ripping his way through his mind as his aunt cut swirling designs into his back with her cursed knife.

His Godfather had given him a potion to help dull the memories before his session with Potter, but he had no such reprieve with the Dark Lord.

_I think it’s sufficient to say that the preparation was necessary._

The nib of his quill pressed too hard into the page, and a few letters weren’t as neat as his regular script.

_ **I’m sorry. I hope that you don’t have to go through that again.** _

_ I’m afraid that may very well be a futile hope. He’s summoned me tonight. I’m just waiting for everyone to fall asleep so I can leave._

He blinked at the page in surprise, not entirely sure why he’d written it. He hadn’t intended to tell her he’d been called, but he supposed it was easier than trying to get a message to Severus before he left.

_ ** How long have you been waiting?** _

_Since before dinner_

His attention was unwillingly drawn back to his mark, his whole left arm a mess of pain, the burning having made it up to his shoulder an hour or so ago.

_ **Snape told Harry that it hurts more the longer you ignore it. Can you not get out?** _

_Not without being seen. Don’t you think I would have left by now if I could have? I don’t fancy making the Dark Lord angry._

He scowled as his stomach turned with fear. He’d been trying very hard not to think too much about why he was being called, particularly on a school night.

Several minutes passed before a sharp crack startled him enough that he knocked the notebook off of his lap and dragged a line of ink over his dove grey trousers. A small house elf that he vaguely recognized stood in front of him, sinking comically into his quilt, a tea cozy flopped over its head and mismatched striped socks over its long feet.

It thrust out a shimmering cloak, and he reached forward to take it automatically before he realised what it was.

“Mistress Hermione says you is to bring both Master Harry’s cloak and yous self back in one piece, and you is to tell her the second you is back in the castle.” The small elf shrilled with a stern look before it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

Draco stared at the cloak in shock, hardly able to believe she had sent him something so valuable without his even asking. He scooped the notebook back up and flipped it open quickly.

_ **Did Dobby bring you the cloak?** _

_Yes, he just left._

_ **Good. Will it help you get out and back in?** _

_Yes, I should be able to get around Zabini and whoever is left in the common room_

_ **Write me as soon as you’re back. If I don’t hear from you by tomorrow at noon and you’re not at the safe house, we’ll start working on ways to come get you from the manor. Unless you think it’s absolutely needed, please leave the cloak in the wooden crate outside of Hagrid’s cabin on your way to the forest.** _

Draco swallowed heavily, the knot of fear untwisting a tiny bit at the thought that someone would come to get him if it all went pear shaped.

_I will. Thank you, Granger._

_ **Be safe** _

Draco steeled himself and put his boots back on, swinging the cloak over his shoulders as he readied himself to meet the Dark Lord.

* * *

The chill damp of the grounds of Malfoy Manor echoed with a fading crack as he apparated onto the front steps. The manor was quiet and dark, and for the first time in his life, Draco felt creeping fear instead of the warmth of home at the sight of his family seat.

He climbed the steps quickly, his breath steaming out and mingling with the faint mist that was falling. The tall doors opened as he approached, his magical signature now tied to the stone monolith as the Lord of the Manor.

Bimby was waiting for him in the foyer, the small elf looking thinner and more ragged than the last time he had seen her.

“Master Malfoy, sir, his Lordship is waiting for you in the red parlor.” The elf squeaked, looking like she very much did not want to escort him.

He waved her off “I can find my way through my home elf. See that tea has been supplied and that the Dark Lord and I are not disturbed.”

She bowed low and vanished as he turned down the left-hand hall and made his way to the receiving room his father had always preferred. He thought it was a bit gaudy, but hadn’t been in a position to criticize his father’s questionable taste in decor.

The door stood open, and he could see the flicker of flames dancing against that wall opposite. A low murmur of voices reached him as he approached, and he tamped down his curiosity as to who else had been called to the meeting. He checked his occlumency shields once more before he turned and strode into the room with all of the arrogance he could muster.

The two Death Eaters seated on a low couch in front of the Dark Lord fell abruptly silent at his entrance, but he ignored them in favor of kneeling at the feet of the snake like man.

“My Lord, please accept my most humble apologies for my delay in reaching you. I was unable to get away without notice.” Draco said, his head bowed deeply.

“I hardly think that the newest Malfoy lord should have trouble getting past members of his own house. Tell me Draco, are you not capable of commanding the silence of those who should be following you, as you so assured me that they did?” the high pitched hiss made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His mind scrambled for an even halfway decent excuse as the two men on the sofa chuckled darkly.

“I’m sorry, my Lord, but the bitch of a mudblood has been following me everywhere, and she had prefect patrol tonight. She’s taken to lingering around the dungeons, and it was necessary for me to wait until she returned to Gryffindor.” He injected enough venom into his voice to cover the slight tremor and hoped like hell he’d have enough time to tell Granger his cover story before some helpful Slytherin informed their father that he was lying.

“Umm. I have heard that Potter’s little friend seems particularly vicious with you of late. Very well, seat yourself.” The Dark Lord motioned carelessly to the large burgundy chair to his left, and Draco hurried to take a more upright position.

“Avery and Dolohov have been looking into the incident in Knockturn alley at my request. Share with the boy what you’ve learned,” the Dark Lord said, a small cruel smile dancing over his flat face.

Avery shifted a bit, sitting forward on the sumptuous brown leather couch. “Well, Malfoy, our Lord has been kind enough to look into what might’ve happened to your mum, and we’ve been askin around, you see.” He glanced over his shoulder to the stony faced Dolohov, who raised a brow and motioned him on with an impatient look.

“Turns out a couple of the shop keepers were hit with an obliviate, but they missed two witches out shopping for their grandkids. We found em, and they were more than happy to tell us what all they saw by the time we were done with them, weren’t they Dolohov.” Avery smirked, and Draco suppressed a shudder at the fate of the women they’d caught, instead giving the other Death Eaters an oily smile.

Not getting as much of a reaction as he had obviously hoped for Avery hurried on, his eyes darting between the Dark Lord and the folds of his black robe, bunched in his lap.

“Well those witches, they told us that that very morning a whole pile of redheads showed up right off the old jewelry store, and some tall skinny bloke all dressed in black with a boy that looked just like Harry Potter with him.” Avery finished triumphantly, looking expectantly at Draco.

Draco had been preparing himself for it and stood sharply, rage written over his features. Avery startled back as he paced across the room, his strides abrupt and angry.

“Those fucking bastards, I knew it, I knew they had something to do with it. All their high and mighty speeches, how they’re all so self righteous and then they turn around and MURDER AN INNOCENT WOMAN.” He screamed the last, his fists bunched at his sides, and his hair ruffling from the magic that was swirling around him.

Avery looked a bit alarmed, though Dolohov’s expression hadn’t changed from his slightly bored look. The Dark Lord looked pleased, motioning for Draco to seat himself again.

“I’m sorry for my behavior, my Lord,” Draco muttered as he sank back into his seat, relief that they hadn’t discovered his duplicity making his hands shake.

“It is understandable, Draco. I thought you would like to know what we had found, even though you were already so sure about Potter. You will not, however, attack him again. My wish is for you to remain at Hogwarts and follow through on your mission.” The sibilant voice commanded softly.

“Of course, my Lord, I won’t do anything that would result in my expulsion.” Draco hastened to assure the man.

“Very well, you may go. But Draco, I expect you to have made progress the next time I call for you. I have been lenient given your loss, but I will not be so any further.” The Dark Lord turned from him, clearly dismissing him.

“Yes, my Lord. I won’t fail you. Thank you for the information.”

Draco backed out quickly, shutting the door softly behind him and striding swiftly down the hall before Voldemort could call him back. Adrenaline was surging through him, making his hands shake and his breath come in small rapid gasps.

He barely noticed the darkness of the manor as he sped out the door and apparated back to Hogwarts.

His trip back to his dorm was a blur, and he found himself reaching for the notebook he had tucked under his pillow almost before he got the cloak off.

_I’m back. He just wanted to tell me that they had confirmed it was the Order who blew up the jewelry store and to remind me I should be murdering the Headmaster._

His hands still had a small tremor as he wrote, making his writing look like a man with palsy had taken his place. He heaved a deep breath and leaned down to carefully unlace his boots. He was pulling off his shirt to change into his pyjamas when familiar crack sounded, and the small oddly dressed house elf from earlier reappeared.

“Miss Hermione says Dobby should be taking the cloak back and that I was to be bringing Mr. Malfoy things when he returned.” He blinked a bit as the elf he now recognized as once belonging to his family snapped long fingers, then grabbed the cloak from the end of the bed and disappeared.

A small tray sat on his bedside table, a cheese toastie, a mug of soup and a glass of firewhiskey sitting on it.

He glanced up to see words scrawling over the page of the open notebook.

_ **I’m glad you made it back. Did he hurt you? Do you need anything? I sent Dobby with a few things. I assumed since the Dark Mark was active, you didn’t eat much tonight. Hopefully, you don’t hate cheese toasties.”** _

A kernel of warmth lit itself in his chest at her thoughtfulness. He hadn’t gotten to eat much, and now that he wasn’t sick with worry, he found he was starving.

He quickly finished changing and sat down with his late night meal, and the notebook balanced on a pillow next to him.

_I’m fine, he wasn’t upset with me. I think he only called me there to help bind me tighter to him. I’m new enough and in just an important enough position that I think he is trying to cater to me at least a small amount. And really Granger, who doesn’t like a toastie?”_

_Also, before I forget, you were in the hall on patrol tonight and stalking me so I couldn’t leave._

_ **Was I now? Good to know I’ve developed such disturbingly Harry like habits. That should be easy enough, Ron was on patrol, I’ll just mention I took it over.** _

He grinned around a bite of hot beef soup, his stomach settling for the first time in hours. Really when she wasn’t an insufferable know it all or trying to hex his bollocks off, she wasn’t half bad for a muggleborn.

_Thanks, Granger, I’ll try to miss you the next time we have a run in in the hall._

_ **Thanks ever so much for that. I’m going to bed. Goodnight Malfoy.** _

_Night Granger_

When he finally settled in to get a few hours of sleep, his stomach pleasantly full and his head a little fuzzy from the whiskey, he found himself thinking about how it wasn’t terrible to have someone around who wasn’t just trying to get something from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are interested the piece playing that Severus mentions as one of his favorites is Experience by Ludovico Einaudi


	10. Chapter 10

_She’s got my back_   
_She’ll follow me down every street_   
_No matter what my crime_

-Amsterdam, Gregory Isakov

Harry spent the final week leading up to Easter break studying and finishing midterm projects with no small amount of panic. Several of the sixth year Professors had assigned projects or papers in place of testing, under the belief that applied review would serve students better when it came time for NEWTS. Hermione was the only one that showed any real enthusiasm for it, which was not unexpected but had earned her more than a few unhappy looks when she had started planning rather loudly in the middle of Charms, much to Flitwick's approval.

Harry and Severus had resumed their previous schedule of nightly visits to the Gryffindor common room, which were considerably more comfortable than they had been. After almost five months, Harry’s house had finally adjusted to seeing Snape at the side of the Boy Who Lived and there was no longer a sea of silence when Harry came to study. Though Severus wasn’t happy with how familiar some of the lions had gotten with him outside of the tower and had resorted to taking almost as many points as he had during their first year.

Thursday night found their typical group bunched up around a large oak table, watching in wary silence as Ron attempted to complete his project for Charms. He had created an enormous quidditch pitch and tied it to an actual memory of a game- his memory from the ill-fated world cup several years prior.

The miniature Irish and Bulgarian players zoomed on their tiny brooms, flashing and faltering slightly at the small gaps in Ron’s memory. He had even charmed the image to include tiny spectators in the stands and fireworks exploding. His final charm was adding the sound and syncing it up correctly with the memory that was guiding the tiny transfigured players.

Since that would require some very delicate magical weaving he had gathered a fairly large crowd, almost all of who had placed a bet one way or the other. Even Hermione had put down her project to come watch and stood on Harry’s left, trying to crane her neck around the group of fifth years in front of her. Severus was settled close to Harry’s right and had already put a shield up over all three of them. The rest of the Gryffindors had looked a bit worried when he did so and most took prudent steps back.

Rain tapped on the leaded glass windows of the tower and the common room was uncomfortably warm with the fire, extra candles and pack of student bodies. Red chairs and couches were arranged to suit whoever had claimed them and spread themselves haphazardly across the room. Golden cushions strewn themselves everywhere and the ozone smell of spellwork overlaid with a faint hint of tea lingered throughout the tower.

Ron finished off the note sheet of spells in front of him with a flourish of his quill, looked around a bit nervously and began casting, the tip of his tongue sticking out as he twisted his wand through complex patterns. Finally, he paused, his wand held high, the tip pointing into the pitch as he shouted what sounded like a mix of Latin and Greek.

Harry watched intently, his messy hair falling into his eyes. He knew Ron had spent the last few weeks looking up spells and had even enlisted Hermione, despite Lavender's vocal protests. Distracted by thoughts of Ron’s tumultuous love life, Harry almost missed Severus’ alarmed gasp, instinctively throwing a shield up between the table and everyone around it at the last second. Severus’ shield snapped up around the outside of his milliseconds later.

The explosion was one of the most impressive that Harry could remember seeing. Blue flames edged in gold licked at the interior of his shield and Harry could feel the strain on his magic as he poured more into the shield, thickening it and including an extra layer of flame resistance. The whole room lit up with an eerie glow, highlighting the worn wooden beams of the ceiling and eclipsing the light from the candles for an instant. He could feel Severus’ magic pressing down on top of his, bracing his spellwork up.

The flames vanished with a sudden sucking sound, spinning down into the blackened remains of the once impressive pitch. Blue-black smoke filled the semi-transparent dome and hid the table, the swirling clouds looking almost sentient as it pushed out against the barrier before collapsing back down almost resentfully.

At the squeeze of long fingers on his shoulder Harry dropped his magic and sagged, surprised at how tired he was. Groans came from all around them as people picked themselves up from the floor, having either thrown themselves there or fallen from the wave of clashing magics.

Hermione waved her wand from her position on the rug, clearing out the lingering smoke. She scooted herself around until her back rested on Harry’s shins and glared across the room at a stunned Ron.

Ron was sprawled out across a nearby chair where he had landed after being thrown backward. A small cut on his head leaked blood and his bright red hair had burned, shriveled tips.

“Really Ronald. I did tell you that trying to mix ancient Greek spells with a more modern one was a poor idea” Hermione scolded as she struggled to stand and ended up falling back in a heap.

Harry leaned over to help her up and felt the world tilt alarmingly. His windmilling arms were caught by large hands as Severus set him upright before reaching down and picking Hermione up.

Hermione swayed a bit but steadied herself, her hair standing up around her head in a decent imitation of Harry’s.

“Thank you Professor” she nodded with a fair amount more dignity than Harry could have managed and turned about, abandoning her school mates.

Severus just shook his head before pulling out his wand and summoning his patronus. His lovely silver doe burst out of his wand and turned to look expectantly at him.

“Please go find Poppy and ask her to come to the Gryffindor tower. There’s been a mishap” he sighed, dark eyes resigned.

For just an instant before his doe took off, it wavered slightly, as if it were going to fade before it solidified again and raced off through the floor. Harry turned just in time to see Severus frown at it, looking vaguely unsettled.

They made their way over to the couch and slumped against each other, listening to the grumbles of students around them. By the time the mediwitch arrived Harry was feeling almost normal, though he did have an odd burnt metallic taste in his mouth and he could barely smell anything.

Numerous bottles of general healing potion and one very stern talk with Ron about unauthorized spell creation and Madam Pomfrey swept out, nodding to Snape on her way by.

Ron retreated up to the dorms, shamefaced and trying to avoid the glares of his fellow students while frantically muttering about essays. Harry and Hermione settled back in to finish the last of their projects, a box that would only open if you answered a set number of questions correctly that Hermione had been working on for the better part of a month and a small innocent looking leather wristband that Harry had been fiddling with for the past few weeks.

He had added a small flat compartment to the top and sectioned it off into three parts. To open a portion you had to speak the password and press the correct magical signature to it. The first section held healing potions, bandages, and quick use healing spells. The second held potions as well but were both offensive and defensive, poisons and bottled everbright-fire, Peruvian instant darkness powder and oxygen vanishing gas. The third held supplies; clothing, maps, foods and even a couple of portkeys.

Harry had gotten the idea watching Hermione dig around in her expanded bag one day, and wondered if he could do the same to a pocket. His plan had failed when he realised he’d have to do it to all of his jeans, he had no real way to lock it, and the house elves had accidentally washed three of his school books he’d forgotten in his trousers.

He’d come up with the leather cuff while he was idly spinning his silver bracelet around one evening. He’d spoken with Severus about it, who seemed intrigued but mentioned that it took a great deal of power and precision to anchor undetectable expansion and featherweight charms onto something that small.

Aurors had a version of it, a larger and more clunky belt, but Harry wanted something that would be overlooked. He’d been captured and disarmed enough times that he wanted to have more than just his wits and some bits of pocket fuzz to fight his way out.

Severus had helped him practice the spells and set him up in a heavily warded room when it was time to anchor the spells. Several hours of work and one imploded wrist band later Harry had come out successful. All he had to finish was his write up and full spell explanation for Flitwick and he was done for the next two weeks.

It was just past ten when Harry finished the last of his essay and let himself slump backward. He was perched on his cushion at the low table Hermione favored, the surface strewn with parchment and quills, and Severus had planted himself, along with a pile of grading, on the couch behind Harry.

Harry leaned until his back hit bony legs and his head fell to rest on a pair of uncomfortably pointy knees. Severus just grumbled and shifted around, absently moving his booted feet to Harry’s sides and letting him fall into a more comfortable position, resting against the couch.

A throat cleared off to the side and Harry glanced around tiredly to see Hermione looking at him and then off to his left pointedly. Harry glanced over, confused, and met the startled eyes of Neville. His friend had surfaced from his revision and was looking at Harry like he’d grown a second head.

Harry gave him a puzzled look but felt himself flush when Neville’s eyes darted between him and Severus with a clear question. He was so used to being in their rooms where really only Hermione ever saw them, that he tended to forget that he was perhaps a bit more familiar than he should be with a professor.

But really, he thought sourly, it’s not like people didn’t know how they slept, he’d gotten enough taunting from the Slytherins about it early on. Of course, he would get comfortable with being around the other man, it’s not like it was a big deal.

Harry snorted softly but pulled himself up, squeezing Severus’ ankle on the way to get his attention.

“I’m done, you about ready to head back?” he asked as he collected his schoolwork.

Severus blinked a few times but nodded, sorting through his pile of grading and pulling out bits of work that had gotten mixed. He packed up quickly and stood with a grimace, his spine cracking loudly enough for Harry to hear. His black robes were wrinkled and the cuffs of his white shirt were stained with scarlet ink.

They left with calls of goodbye from those still up, and just as he was ducking through the portrait hole Harry glanced back to see Neville corner Hermione. She had an exasperated look on her face and met his eyes for just an instant before the portrait closed.

Harry frowned the rest of the way to the dungeon, not sure what was going on with her. He could have sworn, for just a second, her eyes had held frustration with him.

* * *

The last class before break was Charms, which saw a parade of projects stacked over every desk, including Weasley’s blackened ruin. Severus sneered at it as the dejected red head slumped past to present it to Flitwick. Unsurprisingly Flitwick eyed it dubiously but accepted it and the write up.

He grimaced and threw a silencing charm up as a Ravenclaw wandered past with what appeared to be a shouting wristwatch. He was fairly certain at this point that Harry may have made the only useful thing in the room, though Granger’s was at least challenging, and Longbottom’s plant diagnostic pot wasn’t terrible.

Harry handed in his practice piece, along with his essay, and wandered back over to flop down on the seat next to Severus, his left wrist encased in a soft brown leather cuff, his right bearing the ruin covered silver. He’d gone ahead and made a fully working model and already stocked it with a small arsenal, which if it was anyone else would have been ridiculous, but in Harry’s case was just good sense.

Severus had grudgingly admitted that it was a good invention but hadn’t managed to work his way around to asking for one for himself yet. Perhaps if he mentioned it would be useful for Granger and Weasley to have one Harry might include him as well.

Severus was pulled out of his unsuccessful plotting by the flutter of parchment as a paper phoenix came drifting in and landed on the desk in front of him. He barely resisted rolling his eyes as Harry sat up with interest. Dumbledore was at times the least subtle person he knew, which was saying something as he was, unfortunately, more closely acquainted with Weasley than he ever wanted to be.

The small ornate bird unfolded itself to show the neat handwriting on the interior, requesting both his and Harry’s presence as soon as they were able. Harry had already gathered his bag as Severus stood, having read the note along with him. Harry bid a quick goodbye as they left.

The halls were mostly clear and they made it to the Headmasters office in good time, only slightly delayed by a wayward staircase that seemed to think they really should be getting off on the fifth floor.

Albus was waiting for them beside his cluttered desk, the large stone pensieve already glowing with a memory. Harry dropped his bag as he entered, raising a skeptical brow at the glowing liquid before shooting a wry look at Severus.

“Good afternoon my boys. And how are both of you?” Albus waved them forward, his robes a sedate grey that would have been surprisingly acceptable if not for the flashes of lightning and embroidered rain washing over it.

“As well as can be expected. Is this really necessary? We were going to pack and will both be at Headquarters by tomorrow afternoon” Severus asked, irritation lacing his voice.

“I’m afraid so. I wished for both of you to see a few select memories before you leave. I believe it will be useful for you two to have time to plan outside of Hogwarts” the Headmaster answered cryptically.

Severus grunted, choosing not to comment on Dumbledore’s methods but not leaving any doubt as to his opinion. Beside him, Harry sighed heavily, the noise full of weariness, but stepped forward anyway.

Without further questions they both moved to watch the memory, making the older wizard hurry to join them, having clearly expected more arguments.

With the feeling of slow falling still churning in his gut, the hazy scene clarified and Severus found himself standing in an overly ornate ladies sitting room. It was cluttered with any number of artifacts, some shelves crammed so full that pieces were in danger of tumbling to the floor. Everything seemed primarily white or pastel with an excessive amount of lace on most surfaces and draped over the windows.

An older woman was seated in one of the heavily embroidered chairs, her feet propped on a matching ottoman. The first thing that Severus noticed was that she was dressed far too richly for her sitting room in the middle of the day. Her hair was piled high on her head, teetering perilously over a face caked in beautifying potions and what looked to be a fair amount of muggle makeup. It gathered in the creases around her eyes and mouth like silt deposited in the dips of a river bed, highlighting her age instead of hiding it. Her soft rotund body was draped in rich robes, the fabric alone likely worth more than his entire house.

A small house elf in a smart uniform appeared, leading in a young dark haired man through one of the two doors in the room. He lifted his head to smile at the simpering woman and Severus heard Harry suck a sharp breath through his teeth as he recognized Riddle.

He was a handsome man, Severus could admit that. His jaw was slender but sharp, his cheekbones high and with just enough prominence to give him an aristocratic look without making him look gaunt, unlike Severus. His chestnut hair was thick and had just a hint of a wave, offsetting his pale complexion and lovely blue eyes perfectly.

He was dressed smartly in the style of the time, a high waistcoat and neatly tailored trousers, covered by a simple but clean robe, something that would have been common for the workday.

He would be right around Harry’s age in this memory, a thought which made the cold distance in Riddle's eyes more apparent.

“Hepzibah my dear, don’t you look simply ravishing today?” Riddle proclaimed, striding across the room and snagging one raised hand from the air, placing a lingering kiss on the back of it.

The older witch tittered, her small eyes darting down in the false impression of a flustered maiden and Severus felt his mouth pinch in disgust.

“Oh, Tom you flatterer. You know compliments will get you everywhere!” Her high, girlish voice grated a sharp counterpoint to Riddle’s smooth tenor.

They settled themselves, Riddle fixing himself a cup of heavily sugared tea and exchanged small pleasantries, the Dark Lord having played this part before.

“Where are you storing this armor then? Mr. Burke was very keen on acquiring a full Goblin made suit.” Riddle interrupted the woman’s rambling about an ancient Egyptian wizarding staff, barely concealed impatience on his face.

“Oh yes of course Tom. Wouldn’t want to keep you from work for too long would we?” She motioned with one fat hand at the small house elf in the corner, who bowed and disappeared through the previously unopened door.

So, Voldemort had worked for Borgin and Burkes. There had been rumors, which the Dark Lord had squashed. It wouldn’t do to have anyone know that the greatest dark wizard of all time had been a shop boy.

The elf padded back into the room, a gleaming suit of armor floating behind it. Severus let his attention wander to the room as they haggled, trying to decide exactly whose memory it was that he was in. Everything had gone fuzzy when the elf left to get the artifact so his best guess would be it.

The sound of clattering drew Severus’ attention back as Riddle disassembled the suit and placed it piece by piece into a neat leather briefcase. The young man shifted around, obviously preparing to depart but was halted by a thick fingered hand on his arm. For just an instant complete rage flashed over Riddle’s face before he covered it, pulling his arm away in feigned casualness as he turned to the witch.

“I thought I would show you something special today. Something just for you to see” Hepzibah gave the young man a greedy, searching look, obviously hoping to pique his interest. “But you must promise not to tell Mr. Burke. He’d never give me a moment of peace if he knew I had it.”

Riddle looked up and smiled politely at her as he nodded, seemingly interested but not so focused as to be alarming, but Severus could see the sharp attention that occupied the blue eyes. “Of course Hepzibah. It’ll be our little secret.”

Riddle got an ingratiating smile for his trouble and Hepzibah snapped her fingers, causing the small elf to disappear and reappear rapidly, a box now held in her thin fingered hands. The large eyed creature came forward and handed the box to her mistress. Now that it was nearer Severus was almost certain it was, in fact, a she.

Hepzibah reached reverently into the box and brought a small but very ornate golden cup out, holding it carefully out to Riddle.

“Do you know what this is Tom?” she asked, her eyes so focused on the cup that she missed the look of naked greed that flashed over the man's face.

“Hepzibah don’t tell me that it’s one fo the founder's artifacts? Hufflepuff’s cup if the descriptions of it are accurate” Riddle answered, graceful fingers caressing the metal.

“Such a clever boy you are. Yes, it is. Dear Helga was a distant relative and the cup has been kept in my family for generations. I know how much you appreciate true antiquities so I was certain you would want to see this” she reached out, taking the cup back and setting it in the box, drawing something in a small flat box out as her hand retreated.

“This I bought from Mr. Burke for a ridiculous amount, but I think you will like it even more since it’s of your house.” With that Hepzibah opened a flat velvet lined box and revealed an oval locket with a stylized S over the front.

“Slytherin's locket? And you say you got it from Mr. Burke?” Riddle asked, his hand reaching out to snatch it before he forcibly stopped himself. Something had slipped in his voice, a small crack in the perfect facade.

“Yes, he bought it from some ragged looking woman, she likely stole it so we’ve no idea where it had been for all those years.” The slightly superior look on the old witches face slowly faded as her guest sat stock still, staring at the necklace.

Severus caught the briefest flash of red in Voldemort's eyes as he turned to the woman, who looked much less certain of herself, and quickly tucked the locket away, making excuses about another visitor on the way.

Riddle wrapped up quickly, thanking her for sharing the cup and locket with him and by the time he left his obsequious manner had settled the woman’s brief alarm.

The room swirled as the memory ended and Severus found himself standing over the Headmaster’s pensieve. Dumbledore waved him off before he could begin questioning him and silently dropped a different memory into the basin.

“We will discuss it further once we have watched this one as well. I suspect it will aid you in your understanding.” With that Albus leaned over and dipped his head into the swirling liquid. With a small dubious look, Harry followed, Severus seconds behind.

They appeared in a very familiar dungeon office, though the books on the shelf were older and the desk was set up differently.

A considerably younger Horace Slughorn entered the memory, walking across the room as a group of students trailed out. When he looked up he found a considerably younger Tom Riddle standing in front of the large desk. The boy looked no more than 15 and was as neatly groomed as Draco ever was, though his clothing was of poor quality.

“Professor do you have a moment to speak with me?”

Slughorn smiled happily and motioned Riddle over to a chair next to his desk. “Of course Tom. What can I help you with today?”

“Well Professor I was doing a bit of outside research and I ran across a mention of something interesting, but I couldn’t seem to find any other references, and I was wondering, since you’ve always been so wonderful about helping me with my studies, if perhaps you would know” the younger Riddle hedged, glancing up at Slughorn through his dark lashes. The boy hadn’t mastered the level of smooth flattery he would in a few years time, but Horace had always been an easy mark.

“Of course my boy. Been getting into a few of the restricted section books again have you?” Horace said a conspiratorial look on his face as he tapped the side of his nose knowingly.

“Yes Professor, but just some minor research of course.” Riddle gave his head of house an insincere smile.

“Well, what it is then that’s got you all flustered?” Horace asked jovially as he picked a small piece of crystalized pineapple from a bowl at his elbow.

“Well, sir I saw mention of something called a Horcrux…” Riddle trailed off, a terrible glint in his eye.

Severus felt like an icy dagger had plunged into his stomach as panic tore through him.

No. Absolutely not.

The possibility that Voldemort had tied himself to this world in such a way wasn’t something that Severus could work through his mind.

He was pulled away from the gibbering panic in his brain long enough to notice that the memory had gone hazy, the shapes indistinct as Horace’s voice echoed oddly around the room, telling Riddle that he knew nothing about Horcruxes and that Riddle wasn’t to be caught asking about them again.

A tug around his navel and they were all spilling out into Dumbledore’s office.

Severus spun toward the older wizard, his robes flaring out around him as he pointed an accusing finger at the blackened ruin of Albus’ hand.

“You knew! You knew he had created a Horcrux and you managed to curse yourself with that damn ring while you were hunting it.” Severus knew he was yelling by the end, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. This was what Dumbledore had been hiding from him, the knowledge that the Dark Lord was nigh impossible to kill. There wasn’t any other reason for Albus to have been sneaking around this last year, to have been to close mouthed with everyone.

“Hey, can somebody explain what that was?” Harry broke in from just behind him, a tug on his sleeve turning him to face the confused Gryffindor.

The normally comfortingly cluttered room with its soft lighting and oddly warm and spicy scent that belonged solely to phoenixes suddenly felt stifling.

“That was Albus hiding what was probably that single most important piece of knowledge in this entire fucking war!” Severus roared, throwing an enraged look over his shoulder at Dumbledore before striding out the door and taking the stairs down two at a time.

He couldn’t handle being around the man right then. Helplessness welled as he thought of all the years of work he had put in to try and stop Voldemort, only to find that no matter what he had done the awful creature just wouldn’t die.

Why the rebounding killing curse had simply ripped him apart instead of killing him made considerably more sense now and Severus berated himself as he strode down the incongruously bright and sunny corridor. How he hadn’t guessed that Voldemort had done something like this he didn’t know. He should have guessed. The man was obsessed with avoiding death at any cost, of course, he had taken steps to safeguard himself.

The clatter of boots running down the hall after him broke his thoughts and he looked up as Harry slowed to a fast trot at his side.

“You planning on telling me what all this is about or should I just go find Hermione and a book now?” His tone held rebuke and no small amount of resentment.

Severus grimaced but slowed slightly. “We need to discuss all of this, but I find myself reluctant to remain in the castle. I fear if I am in proximity of Albus I may be overcome with the desire to hex him into oblivion.”

“Great, so Grimmauld place a day early then?” Harry asked nonchalantly.

Severus spared him a small wry smile but nodded, glad that Harry wasn’t planning on pressing him right then. It wasn’t the younger wizard’s fault and Severus didn’t want to start an argument or take out the anger he could feel boiling in him on anyone else. He was reserving it for the meddling old man.

They made their way to the dungeon in silence and packed quickly. Harry sent a short note off to Hermione and Ron, letting them know they were leaving early. The whole group had elected to spend the break at Headquarters since the warding was much better as it was under a fidelius charm.

They made it to Grimmauld place without being stopped by anyone. He had half expected to find Dumbledore waiting for them there but it seemed the old man knew when retreat was the smarter option. A few Order members greeted them as they came in, surprised to see them there early but electing not to comment on it.

Harry waved to everyone but hustled them up to the room they had unofficially claimed as their own. Tippy had come by as the bed linens were clean and several books and small items from their rooms at Hogwarts now occupied the previously sparse bedroom.

Harry sat down in a small squishy armchair by the dingy window, letting his head fall into his hands, his fingers carding through the disorder of his hair.

“Alright, tell me.”

* * *

“A Horcrux is an item that someone makes to hold a piece of their soul. It ties them to the mortal plane, even if their body is destroyed. With help, they can be brought back.”

Harry felt his brain skip, not properly latching onto either the idea or the ramifications for several minutes. He had known in a vague sort of way that some kind of dark magic had kept Voldemort from dying properly and allowed him to come back, but being confronted with the stark truth was jarring.

Luckily Severus seemed to understand his silence and simply sat on the edge of the bed quietly, his thin hands dangling between his knees and his soft jumper bunched up above his wrists, showing just a sliver of shining metal.

Harry found himself focusing on the glint of silver as he fought to suppress what was either laughter or screaming that was clawing at his throat.

“So you’re telling me that he can’t die?” Harry asked, the prophecy playing through his head in a horrible loop. If Voldemort couldn’t die then that rather limited the interpretation.

“Not unless we can find and destroy his Horcrux. I imagine that all of the little sessions Albus has been having you review have been leading up to an attempt to discover what the object he chose was” Severus answered, defeat creeping into his voice.

“But why was he having me follow Slughorn around if he already had the memory?” Harry burst out, more confused the longer he thought about it. He got up and paced across the room, the robes he had neglected to take off flowing behind him a distinctly Snape like way.

“I’m not certain but I can guess. The memory we viewed was tampered with, it wasn’t accurate.” Severus leaned a bit further over and began slowly unlacing his boots, a thoughtful look on his face.

“So that wasn’t what actually happened?” Harry asked, halting his pacing.

“No, though I would guess that Horace was simply hiding that he gave Riddle information about Horcruxes. But that doesn’t explain why Albus would want it.” Severus sat up and folded his long legs under himself before calling for Tippy.

The small elf arrived a moment later and Severus requested that she bring them dinner. Harry would have argued that he had a house elf on site for that but he didn’t think either of them was up to being poisoned tonight.

“Alright, so we need that memory. And we need to figure out what Voldemort stuffed part of his soul into.” A terrible suspicion began to creep through Harry’s head as he considered what he would need to look for.

“Severus, how would you know if something was a Horcrux?”

Something in his voice must have alerted Severus to the seriousness of the question because he sat up straighter and gave Harry a wary look.

“I’ve never encountered them, and there’s not a great deal of documentation, for a good reason mind you. I believe it should hold some traits of the person. It would likely have the feel of dark magic but powerful. It wouldn’t be simply an inanimate object.”

“Would it talk to you?” Harry asked softly, his voice breaking a little.

Severus went a little green around the edges. “Yes, I imagine that communicating wouldn’t be outside of its abilities. Harry, what are you thinking of?”

“The diary. That horrible diary in second year that almost killed Ginny. It was him, or at least a piece of him. It looked almost exactly like Riddle in the memory tonight and it could talk. It wrote back and forth with both me and Gin, and when she was dying in the chamber he was coming to life. He could even use my wand.” Harry was pacing again, his fingers running over the leather cuff on his wrist.

Severus sat very still as Harry strode back and forth across the small room like a caged animal. The older man’s face was blank but his eyes burned with the furious intensity of thoughts behind them.

“I should have realised. I should have known when you told me what had happened in the chamber. What other piece of magic could it have been?” Severus muttered, anger clear in his voice.

“But I destroyed it. It’s gone. So that means we should be able to kill him now, right?” Harry was almost weak with the wave of relief that swept through him and started to smile at the other man but felt it falter at Severus’ serious look.

“If that had been it the Headmaster wouldn’t have us chasing this now. I don’t know what else it could have been, so destroying it should solve the problem, but Albus is still concerned.” Dark eyes stared blankly at the delicate embroidered pattern on the quilt, lost in thought.

A small gust of wind and the patter of rain against the window broke the silence and Harry flopped back into his chair, toeing off his boots as he considered the situation.

“What if he made more than one? Can you do that?” Harry blurted out as the thought occurred to him.

Severus froze, the only indicator that he had heard Harry’s question was the slight widening of his eyes. Harry started to ask again but stopped himself as he noticed the way Severus clutched the quilt, his knuckles bleaching of colour.

“It would require tearing your soul again and again. It would drive a person mad.” When Severus finally spoke it was very quiet and no small amount of fear was laced through his voice.

“It would make sense for him to do such a thing. Albus must be trying to find how many he made and what objects he put the mangled parts of himself in. I don’t know…. I don’t know how we stop this.” Severus finally looked up and met Harry’s eyes, fear and despair filling the blackness of his.

Harry felt a thousand years old as he stood and made his way over to the bed. He sat down heavily and reached out, lacing his fingers into the waiting hand beside him.

“We kill him. Piece by piece instead of all at once. That’s all. And in the end, we finish it and he never comes back. Dumbledore must think that Slughorn knows something worth knowing so we need to get the real memory. It might help.” Harry could hear the determination in his voice and wasn’t certain where it came from but he was glad of it anyway.

Severus nodded numbly, his hand squeezing Harry’s so tightly that he couldn’t feel the tips of his fingers.

They both jumped when Tippy reappeared with their dinner, and much to the disapproval of the small elf they chose to eat with their plates spread around them on the bed, their knees resting against each other in silent comfort.

“I think we should tell at least a few other people. The more help we have the better” Harry said as he put his empty plate on the bedside table.

“We cannot risk information about the Horcruxes getting out. Most people don’t know of them because the knowledge was deliberately destroyed. And if the Dark Lord learns that we are hunting them, however many there are, he could begin taking steps to prevent us.” Severus put his own barely touched plate aside and scrubbed his hands over his tired face.

“I don’t think we should tell the whole Order, but Ron and Hermione can both help. And I think Professor McGonagall. She was at Hogwarts when Riddle was wasn’t she?” Harry asked.

Severus grunted in reluctant agreement and nodded.

“Minerva is a good idea. She may have more insight about the possible objects, and I don’t suppose I’ll be able to dissuade you from telling Granger and Weasley. I say we don’t allow it to go further than that for now though.” Severus covered a yawn as he finished speaking, his shoulders slumped in exhaustion.

“Alright, we can talk to them when they get here tomorrow. For now, we could both use some sleep.” Harry responded, shooing Severus toward the bathroom to get ready for bed.

They were both settled in, and Harry was just drifting off when Severus gave a small snort of laughter.

“We’re never going to be able to pry Granger out of the library again after this are we?”

Harry just groaned.

* * *

They arrived at Grimmauld place Saturday afternoon, having gotten permission to floo in. Harry and Snape had apparated the night before, much to everyone’s surprise. She arrived with the full intention of cornering her best friend and getting a decent explanation but was immediately waylaid by the entire Weasley family as she stepped from the fireplace.

It took her and Ron several minutes to extract themselves and climb the stairs to drop off their bags.

The Order had decided that it would be best for Harry to spend time at Headquarters instead of the Burrow, which meant Hermione and the Weasley’s all joined him there. The house was full to bursting yet still managed to have a sinister sort of stillness. Hermione took the room with Ginny and Tonks, a few doors down from Harry and Snape’s.

Ron was bunking with the twins and had dashed down the stairs to beg Hermione to ward his bed as soon as he had found out where he would be sleeping. It took much longer than it should have to get everyone settled, but eventually, a small group located both Harry and Snape, buried under a stack of books in the back of the Black library.

“Do I even want to know?” Hermione asked as she crossed the soft carpet to where the quiet murmuring indicated Harry was, somewhere under a fort of literature.

A tousled head of black hair popped up, coated liberally with dust and the odd cobweb.

“Mione, when did you get here?”

“Almost an hour ago, along with everyone else. Have you been here all day?” Hermione rounded the desk to find a small workspace carved out of the mess and two sets of eyes, one inky black, and the other sharp emerald green, blinking owlishly at her.

They looked like they had been there for hours, cold cups of coffee and tea leaving rings on sheaves of notes. Harry wasn’t even truly dressed, having elected to wear track pants and a hoodie, his shoes replaced by what looked like at least two pairs of thick socks.

Snape wasn’t much better. He had on a pair of jeans and his Weasley sweater, his black boots loosely laced and his long hair tied back. She would never have guessed the man even owned jeans and the outfit made him look years younger.

Both had dark circles under their eyes and looked like they couldn’t have gotten more than a few hours of sleep. Open pots of ink mingled with quill nibs and small torn notes with just a few jotted words stuck haphazardly in the edges of books littered the area.

Ron rounded the table and leaned on her shoulder, surveying the organizational disaster that was the last third of their trio. Fred, George, and Ginny all poked their heads around the other side, looking curiously at the notes in front of Snape.

“Erm yeah, we’ve just been, uh, looking into a few things for defense is all,” Harry responded, giving her and Ron a significant look as he shuffled the papers around to cover his notes.

“What kind of things for defense would have you stuck in this place for hours and hours?” George asked, his jovial tone not matching the flash of concern in his eyes.

“The kind that are absolutely none of your business Mr. Weasley. How Harry and I choose to spend our free time is hardly your concern.” Snape cut both the twins off, snapping shut the book he had been reading through and covering his own set of notes.

“Right, guess we’ll just leave you to it then. Come on Gin, I think mum needed us anyway.” Fred grabbed Ginny around the arm and lead her away despite her protests, George shooting all four of them a searching look as he closed the library doors behind them.

“Alright, so what have you been doing then?” Hermione asked them. The look of mingled fear and despair that Harry gave her sent a frisson of fear down her spine.

“Ms. Granger I know you’ve spent a great deal of time in the restricted section over the years. Tell me, have you ever run across a magical object called a Horcrux?” Snape asked quietly, his long fingers drumming softly on the cover of the book in front of him.

“Horcrux? That does sound familiar but I can’t think of where I saw it. What is it?” her voice was puzzled and she tugged thoughtfully at one of the curls that fell over her shoulder.

“It’s an object that can be created through only the most heinous of acts. It is possible if one is willing to make the sacrifice, to remove part of a soul and store it outside of the body, effectively tying the person to life, even if the body is destroyed” Snape answered, his face set in hard lines.

Hermione felt her stomach turn as she considered what sort of psychopathy would be necessary to create such a thing.

“He made one, didn’t he? You Know Who I mean” Ron’s voice broke in, shaking slightly. His face had washed out, making his freckles more apparent and the copper of his hair more vibrant.

“Yes Mr. Weasley, he did. However, we believe he may have made more than one.” The older wizard crossed thin arms over his chest as he spoke, the circles under his eyes looking more like bruises.

“What do you mean more than one? How many times can you tear your soul?” Hermione’s voice was an octave higher than usual.

“We don’t know ‘Mione but we think maybe Slughorn has more answers. Dumbledore wanted me to get close to him, remember? Well, we saw an altered memory of him talking to Riddle about Horcruxes, so we need the real memory.” Harry stood and stretched as he spoke, groaning as his shoulder popped loudly.

Silence fell throughout the library as everyone stopped to consider the newest impossible challenge they were facing. Hermione took a deep breath and clutched her shaking fingers together.

“Alright so we need Slughorns memory, we need to figure out how many Horcruxes there are, where they are and how to destroy them.” She reached into her bag as she rattled off the list, already pulling out a notebook to begin organizing her thoughts. The warm brush of lips over her cheek startled her and she looked up into the grinning face of Ron.

“Don’t ever change ‘Mione. I don’t think we could manage if you did” he said, a bit of color having come back into his cheeks.

“Bit of good news, we know how to destroy them. Remember the diary in second year? We’re pretty sure it was a Horcrux and a Basilisk fang worked for it. We’ll just need to pop back down to the chamber for more” Harry shrugged easily.

“You did not tell me the Basilisk was still in the chamber” Snape broke in, sitting up and dropping his arms.

“Well, where else would it be? It’s a bloody great snake, it’s not like I was going to drag it up” Harry said, his voice incredulous.

“Can you take me to it when we return to the castle?”

“Yeah sure. The way in isn’t fun but it should still be fairly open. Unless the ceiling finished collapsing.” Harry said thoughtfully and entirely missed the alarm that flashed over the face of their professor.

“Alright, come on, let's see what you have” Hermione moved to take over the larger table in the center of the room and began pulling materials from her bag.

Ron heaved a sigh but yelled for Kreacher and ordered them tea. It was bound to be a long Easter break.

* * *

Draco arrived at the Manor in the late afternoon the Monday after break had begun. He’d elected to take the train back and have a driver pick him up to delay his return for as long as possible. He’d spent the time since his last visit working on what information he could hand over that wouldn’t be harmful and he’d come up with almost nothing.

The ornate front steps were covered in leaves and dirty boot prints, making him scowl. The house elves should be keeping the manor clean, it was disgraceful to see his home in such a state.

Draco came to an abrupt halt as he entered the Manor and came face to face with Greyback. The werewolf always looked like he was more wolf than man, no matter what body he wore. His clothing was dirty and torn, showing patches of sallow skin, dirt ground so deeply into it that he wasn’t certain if they were bruises or not. The skinny frame hid the supernatural strength the man wielded and his hair was a tangled mess of filthy brown locks. Draco curled his lip in disgust. He could smell the creature from meters away.

“The Dark Lord wishes to see you Malfoy” the low snarl startled him, as always. He never expected a noise that low to come from such a thin chest.

“Of course. I’ll attend him immediately. I’ll also remind you that I am the lord of this Manor and will be addressed as such Greyback” he kept his voice pleasant but hard. He could not afford for any of the Death Eaters to decide that he could be pushed around or cowed.

The wolf bared his teeth at the younger man, his sickly yellow eyes narrowed dangerously. “Of course Lord Malfoy, my sincerest apologies. Our Lord is in his study.”

Draco nodded stiffly and set off down the hall, trying to stop himself from walking too quickly. He hated Greyback and he was never able to turn his back on the man without his skin crawling. The soft snort of laughter behind him told him his bravado hadn’t worked.

Too soon he was pausing in front of the closed door of the study that the Dark Lord favored. He took deep breaths as he double checked his occlumency shields. He had taken a small dose of the potion Severus had given him to help him fight truth serums just before he left the train, just in case.

Just as he raised his hand to knock the door flew open, wild black curls and a face that looked very much like his mothers twisted into an expression of feral glee greeted him. His aunt grabbed the front of his neatly pressed robes and yanked him into the room, swinging him until he stumbled into an open area, the table and chairs having been shoved off to the sides.

Draco felt his throat close as he took in the room, the ring of Death Eaters all around him and the carefully studied look of disappointment on the flat face of the creature that led them.

“Draco I’m so glad you’ve decided to join us” the Dark Lord hissed softly, drawing a titter of laughter from all around.

Draco steeled himself and fell to his knees, knowing there wasn’t any way he was going to get away from this in one piece. Hopefully, he had packed enough healing potions to put him back together afterward.

“My Lord, as always I am honored to be in your presence” the blond answered, his silver eyes fixed on the floor in front of him. A speck of dried liquid, a darker shade of brown than the carpet caught his attention. It could have been anything, anything at all, but he knew what it was.

“Such a well mannered boy Bella, you should be proud,” Voldemort said as he walked with silent steps around where Draco knelt.

“Tell me, boy, what progress have you made in your tasks?” the high pitched words came from directly behind him, ruffling the hair at the nape of his neck and bathing his face with sickly sweet breath.

“My Lord, I have not had an opportunity to come near Dumbledore, he is either missing or being guarded well now. I have some information on the movements of Potter and Snape, and possibly..” his words cut off with an awful scream as the Dark Lord cast a wordless Crucio over him.

It felt like a thousand knives were sawing into his bones, like ice and molten metal were running through his veins. Every time he tried to draw breath his chest constricted a little further, letting less and less air in with each struggling gasp. Just as he was certain he was going to blackout the pain vanished, leaving only the ghost of it twitching his muscles.

Draco pushed himself back up with shaky arms, having fallen sideways as he curled into himself.

“I did tell you Draco what would happen if you had not made enough progress to satisfy me. I do not need to know the movements of Potter. I always know where he is. And if you are unable to complete the tasks I have given you I wonder what good you are to me.” The Dark Lord paced in front of him, his aunt off to the side and watching him shake with remembered pain with an almost lustful look on her face.

Draco turned to hide the disgust he felt and answered “My Lord I assure you I will kill the Headmaster, I just ask for your patience. While he is not near as powerful as you he is clever and knows more than he should.”

Draco risked a glance up and saw Voldemort tapping his chin in thought, the look of anger he had worn missing.

“I will give you until the end of the school year Draco. If you have not solved the problem by then we will have another talk and I will not be near so lenient. And just so you do not allow your task to slip from your mind.. Crucio!”

Pain overwhelmed him once again, worse the second time as it stretched already sore muscles to the breaking point. He could hear himself screaming and the cackle of his aunt's laughter mingled with the rasping gasps he drew between shrieks. He clamped his teeth tightly shut, cutting into his lip and tongue, filling his mouth with the coppery taste of blood.

The last thing he knew was the echoing of high pitched laughter.

* * *

Draco spent three days locked in his rooms recovering. He had taken potions to help with the after effects of the curse, but even then he still had a fine tremor in his hands for the first two days. House elves brought him food and paperwork that had accumulated. For some reason, all of his business reports were coming to the Manson and not to him at Hogwarts, where he had explicitly told his solicitor to send it. He would need to speak with the man again.

Draco was propped at his desk, working through a shipping manifest for export of a particular type of silver found only in mountains that had been subject to regular bouts of dragon fire. A rap on his outer door jerked his head up and he waved his wand to swing it open, smoothing his face into its typical careless mask.

Bellatrix stepped in, the Black madness dancing in her eyes. Black robes of the finest material draped over her slender frame and she even looked as though she had tried to tame her hair. She looked around his room with interest, eyes flitting over the rich dark furniture, over the greens and silvers that his father had ordered his room decorated with before he was born, eventually settling on him.

“The Dark Lord wishes to offer you an opportunity to prove yourself. We are going to a village tonight to show the muggles and muggle lovers exactly how they should be treated. Our Lord has decided that you should join us.” Her head cocked to the side, a pleased look on her face as if she couldn’t imagine a better treat to hand to her nephew.

“Of course Aunt Bella. I’m honored” Draco choked out when it became clear she was waiting for a response.

“Good. Be downstairs just after nightfall.” She turned to sweep out of the room and paused for a moment by the door. “And Draco, if you do anything to disappoint our Lord you will answer to me.”

The door snicked shut behind her and he slumped heavily into his chair, jerking up a moment later in horror. He hadn’t asked which village. There was no way for him to tell anyone in the Order what was planned now, no way to stop it.

Draco stood and scrambled for his trunk, throwing it open and tossing books and school robes all around himself. He muttered a spell and nicked his finger, pressing it to the bottom of the now empty trunk. With a tiny click, a seam appeared and a small ring became visible. He grabbed it and yanked, pulling out the notebook that was hidden beneath it.

He grabbed a quill and set a series of locking and privacy spells over his room before opening the notebook.

_Granger, I don’t know if you’ll get this in time and I can’t write for long but the Death Eaters are planning an attack tonight. I don’t know where all I know is that it’s a muggle village and I am being forced to go along. I know it’s not much to go on and if I can get more information I will._

He glanced nervously around the room before looking back and seeing Granger’s writing hastily scrawling over the page.

_ **Snape says he can find you and to keep your head down when the Order arrives. There might be Aurors with us that don’t know whose side you’re on. ** _

A huge weight fell off his shoulders and for the moment he didn’t even question how his Godfather would be able to track him down, all that mattered was that he could.

_Alright. I have to go but I’ll try to stay on the edges of the village if I can. Be careful, Bellatrix will be there, and probably Greyback as well._

_ **Be Safe** _

The now almost typical sign off by Granger gave him an odd sort of comfort. At least he wasn’t alone in this. Draco sighed and put his trunk back together, calling for his personal elf after everything was locked safely away. He would need more supplies if he was to face tonight.

Draco found himself in the entry hall of his Manor just after dusk, a group of fifteen or so Death Eaters milling around him. Everyone seemed excited, happy like they were gearing up for a quidditch match, not a mass murder. Loud voices and bawdy jokes echoed around as men described exactly what they planned on doing to the muggles they were likely to find. He tried to block out the words but they seeped in, several men turning to him and asking if he planned on sharing any of the women he caught.

Draco’s stomach clenched and for just an instant he was certain he would throw his cover and just start throwing killing curses around him. It might be worth it. He could likely take out more than a few of the monsters that had taken over his home. His fingers caressed the end of his wand where it rested against his forearm in its holster, beginning to draw it out when a small hand landed on his shoulder and fingers dug into his flesh.

“If any of you think that a pureblood like my nephew would ever sully himself by touching a muggle you’re as stupid as you look” his aunt hissed from his side.

One of the men who had been speaking flushed an ugly red and opened his mouth to speak, only to snap it shut as a sibilant voice cut through the room.

“I see we are all eager to get started. Come, let us remind our world who among us is worthy to lead. Who holds the power.” The tall thin man swept past, his black robes flowing around him, contrasting sharply with the near translucent pallor of his skin.

They gathered in the yard and began disapparating. His aunt grabbed his arm and smiled at him cruelly, showing crooked teeth as she yanked him into a side along.

They appeared at the edge of a small village, a single road winding through small neat houses and a few businesses. A pub on the corner leaked bright light out into the murky night, shattering and diffuse in the fog.

A few beats of peaceful silence as the last of the Death Eaters arrived was broken by the whoosh of flames springing out of nowhere and lighting the roof of the pub. All around him dark shapes began howling and shrieking as they pelleted off toward the houses like rabid dogs.

Within minutes confused muggles were spilling onto the streets only to meet curses face first. Draco tried to stay toward the edges and away from the other Death Eaters, raising his wand and casting bombarda on garden walls and empty shops. He started a few small fires where they wouldn’t spread and tried to avoid the worst of it, hoping that Severus would arrive soon.

He was inching his way down the back alley, the rear of a line of houses on his left and a tall stone wall on his right when a sudden crack sounded as the back wall of a home a few lengths in front of him blew outward and sprayed him with rubble. A small child, no more than four or five, stumbled out, clutching a stuffed toy giraffe and staring around in terror.

Draco began to move toward her as a second person came through the wall, a young woman in nothing but a thin torn nightshirt, her face covered in new bruises and cuts. She grabbed the little girl and pushed her back, putting herself between whoever had blown out the wall and her child.

Her hair was a curly halo of brown and for the wildest instant, Draco saw Granger standing there. The fierce fire in the woman’s eyes as she stared down her death did nothing to break the illusion.

Avery stepped out of the remains of the once neat cottage, blood dripping down the side of his face.

“You bitch. You think you can spill the blood of a wizard and get away with it? You filthy animal, I’ll give you exactly what you deserve!” the older wizard snarled, raising his wand.

Draco stepped forward, his wand coming up, not sure what he was doing or thinking but not able to just stand there. Before anyone could cast a huge flash and the sound of apparation filled the air.

Avery twisted toward the noise and Draco watched, frozen, as the woman pulled a knife out from where it had been hidden against her side. She lunged, burying the blade into Avery’s chest with a scream of rage.

The man turned back to her, eyes blown wide in shock as he stumbled and fell to his knees. She yanked the blade free only to plunge it into his neck again and again. By the time she fell back she was covered in blood and Avery was almost decapitated, his body slumped in the dirt and rubble.

He must have made some small noise as she spun suddenly, once again shoving her daughter behind her. She lifted the knife in front of herself and snarled wordlessly at him, looking like the animal that Avery had named her.

“You won’t touch her. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill all of you before you get anywhere near my daughter” she yelled, her voice carrying the edge of hysteria.

Draco opened his mouth to say something, anything when a noise drew both of them around. Bellatrix stood there, staring at the ruin of Avery’s throat and darting to the bloody knife clutched in the woman’s hand.

The little girl was closer to his Aunt, who had come around from the opposite way he had. She raised her wand, rage twisting her face into an awful mask and slashed downward, not toward the woman, but at the child. He jerked forward, a shielding spell already forming, but knowing that he wouldn’t get it up in time.

Draco watched in horror as the woman twisted, and with nothing but grim determination on her face, stepped around her child and took the curse meant for her. The thin nightshirt ripped open as easily as the flesh underneath it, the sound of ribs shattering filling the dark alley.

The child screamed high pitched shrieks as her mother fell, not understanding what was happening but knowing that something was wrong. Draco swallowed as he moved forward, his wand raised. He knew that his cover would be gone but he couldn’t watch Bellatrix murder the child. He simply couldn’t. Not when he had seen her mother stand in front of something terrifying that she couldn’t have understood and not flinched as death barreled toward her.

A sharp flash of blue light came from the end of the alley, striking his aunt a glancing blow. She spun and ran toward what he could only assume was an Order member, leaving the little girl clutching her toy and covered in blood.

Draco hurried over and without thought picked the child up. His eyes skated over the remains of the woman at his feet as he tucked the child more firmly against himself. He cast disillusionments over them both and was ready to put a mild sleeping spell on the girl but she wrapped a small arm around his neck and buried her head in his chest, whimpering softly.

He stumbled from the alley, clutching his small bundle to him as he layered shield after shield over them both. He moved toward the edge of the town, hoping to find a friendly face somewhere in all of the chaos. His way was lit with the flickering light of burning homes and the air had the sharp sulfur smell of curses. He stumbled over something, only to realise it was what was left of a man, only an arm and his torso still recognizable as human. Under the scent of burning and magic, he could smell the coppery tang of blood and something thicker, like the smell of fresh hamburger meat.

Draco clenched his teeth on the bile that was trying to escape, holding the child so tightly that he knew he must be leaving bruises on the pale skin but he couldn’t make himself loosen his grip. Movement ahead made him freeze and raise his wand as an indistinct shape moved through the fog and smoke in front of him.

A glimpse of bushy hair tied tightly back and the flash of golden brown eyes made him drop his spellwork, shaking with relief.

“Granger” he hissed quietly.

She spun, her wand raised but dropped it as soon as she saw him.

“Malfoy what are you still doing here? Most of the Death Eaters fled when we arrived, you need to leave before anyone from the ministry sees you” responded as she hurried over to him.

“I couldn’t take her back with me and I couldn’t… I couldn’t leave her where she was.” His voice broke and to his mortification, he could feel his eyes burning.

Granger looked at him fully for the first time, noticing the child he had clutched to him and an expression he couldn’t begin to imagine on his face.

“Oh Draco” she breathed as she came closer, reaching out to push his sweat soaked and filthy hair from his face. There was a tightness to her features that wasn’t pity but more an acknowledgment of pain. Empathy, he supposed.

“Give her to me, I’ll make sure she’s safe” she reached for the child, who tried to keep her hold on his neck but her terror had exhausted her and she fell away. Small sobs wrenched from her as she clutched the soot covered giraffe to her chest. Hermione scooped her up and wrapped her in a blanket she transfigured out of a kerchief from her pocket. The sobs trailed off as Draco watched with apprehension, feeling strangely reluctant to let the tiny muggle out of his sight.

“Draco you have to go. I promise she’s safe with me” Hermione said, her eyes darting around them to the shapes of people moving through the fog.

He nodded, his throat thick, and started to step away, only for something to stop him. He glanced back and for just an instant he was back in the alley, a young woman with curly dark hair clutching the small child to her with a fierce look on her face.

Two quick steps had him back in reach and without thinking he leaned down and wrapped them both in a tight hug.

“Be Safe” he whispered into her ear before he spun and ran far enough away to disapparate, refusing to look back again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to once again thank everyone who has commented, left Kudos and is actively following this story. Even if I don't respond please know that I absolutely read each and every one of your lovely comments. Since the last chapter took twice as long to get out I thought everyone might like an early one.

_Well I just came to talk, Saint Valentine_   
_I never pictured you living here with the rats and the vines_   
_Ain’t that my old heart hanging out on your lines_   
_You’re all fucked up, Saint Valentine_

-Gregory Isakov, Saint Valentine

Hermione stood in the middle of what looked like a battlefield, her arms going numb with the effort of holding the little girl to her while keeping her wand up. She wasn’t sure how many Death Eaters were still nearby, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She could hear the stuttering breaths that fluttered against her neck, feel the tiny sharp gasps in the small chest pressed to her own. The child smelled like curses and blood and the blanket she had wrapped her in didn’t hide the scarlet splashes that covered her.

Movement brought her wand around, something vicious coming to life in her as the girl clung closer. Hermione felt her lip draw up into a snarl as she twisted her body around, putting herself between whoever was approaching and the child.

The wavering shapes resolved themselves slowly into the tall familiar form of Snape, Harry at his side. They were both splashed with blood and soot and Snape had a long gash down his left cheek, the blood drying and tacky. She felt herself slump with relief, the ache in her shoulders becoming more apparent as the adrenaline drained.

“Mione, you alright?” Harry called softly, looking around with the same wariness she was. They had fought to be included in the raid with the Order, finally winning when Harry had declared he was going whether they liked it or not and pointed out that it would be better if he went with the Order instead of on his own. It had helped that Snape had wanted to be there enough that he hadn’t put up any protest.

“Yes, but I’ve someone who isn’t” she answered, hitching her hip to balance the girl more securely.

“You’ve found a child?” Snape’s voice was surprised as he took in her and her bundle of blankets, girl, and giraffe.

“Draco did. I saw him for a moment, he handed her off to me. He didn’t say what had happened but it can’t have been good” Hermione answered softly, putting her wand into her pocket to free up her arm.

“Was he alright?” Severus asked quietly, a drift of greyish smoke making him look oddly insubstantial and fleeting.

“He didn’t look hurt” she answered, carefully skirting around what he had looked like. Covered in blood and dirt, black smudging his pale hair and streaking his face; the devastation in his expression had been heart-wrenching.

“We need to get out of here before the muggle authorities show up. The ministry is staging a fake explosion, I heard something about natural gas. They’ll want her with the other survivors.” Harry said, twisting to squint into the thick smoke.

“Where are they?” she asked.

“Over toward the other end of the village. We can walk with you” Severus answered, turning on his heel, his black robes flaring behind him. Gone was the relaxed man they had spent the last several days researching with; in his place was the Potions Master and former Death Eater, as graceful and dangerous as he had always appeared. His black eyes had gone cold and blank as soon as they had apparated in, following the charm that Snape had tied to Draco.

They made their way to the area where the ministry was gathering survivors, choosing to skirt around the edge of the village rather than walk through it. None of them were in a hurry to see the results of the Death Eaters visit again. They’d all run into the thick of it as they landed, trying desperately to put out the fires that raged through the once tidy cottages.

The ground was covered in rubble and worse, water from aguamenti spells forming puddles on the pavement that slowly took on hints of pink and swirling red. She’d stopped to help as many as she could, sending off stunners at the few people she thought were Death Eaters. Some of the ministry had shown up in black robes and she hadn’t wanted to accidentally kill someone on their side.

Their slow progress eventually got them to the temporary base of operations, tents and milling people appearing out of the mist and smoke like wraiths.

A group of muggles huddled together at the edge of the village, surrounded by red robed Aurors and bustling ministry officials, their clothing as filthy and damp as everything else. More than one person was crying, but most were just standing and staring blankly at nothing, shock holding them in place, holding them together.

A witch hurried up as she saw them approach, her grim look lightening somewhat when her eyes landed on Harry.

“Mr. Potter, it’s good to see you here supporting the ministry in these troubled times, but I believe we have a handle on everything,” she said smoothly, brushing past Snape without a second glance. Night dark eyes followed her progress, a flicker of anger dancing through them as she approached Harry.

Harry for his part simply looked exhausted. She had seen him running through the village, bright flashes of curses and defensive spells flying from him more rapidly than any of the Aurors could manage, Snape a half step behind, shielding him and sending his brand of dark arts at any he recognized from Voldemort’s service.

Fewer Death Eaters were returning to Voldemort tonight because of them.

He stood carefully, slightly tilted, keeping his weight off of one of his legs, his jeans torn and soaked to the knees, a jagged tear in the side of his jumper and a look of annoyance on his face.

“Perhaps you would like to wait by the apparition point? I believe that the minister will be through shortly and I’m certain he would like to see you.” The woman gave him a bright, false smile and tried to usher him over toward the nearby field where wizards and witches were popping in and out of existence.

“Why haven’t these people been treated for injuries?” Hermione broke in, drawing the witch's attention to her and the bundle she held in her arms.

The woman looked at her as if she were something unpleasant on the bottom of her overpriced shoe, her short nose turned up and her mouth curled with distaste.

“We believe it is important for muggles to be treated by their kind. It would be difficult to explain how someone who was dying was suddenly fine again.” She gave Hermione a condescending look before turning away, clearly dismissing the conversation.

“Oh so it’s alright for magic to destroy their village and kill them, we can explain that away, but not to repair any of the damage _our kind_ have caused?” Hermione bit out, anger making her voice tight.

The woman turned back, her perfectly pressed blue robes and careful hairstyle so out of place in the red tinged darkness that it was almost laughable. Her crimson stained lips puckered into a sour expression as she glared down at the shorter witch. Before she could start what was certain to be a full fledged argument, Snape stepped between them.

He pointedly kept his back to the woman and addressed Hermione and Harry “Perhaps we could spend a bit of time making everyone more comfortable before we leave?” he suggested, his eyebrow raised in silent question, for once in his life playing peacekeeper.

“You’ll do no such thing. We have been patient with you but you have no right to be here, this is ministry business” she spoke up from behind Snape, her strident voice drawing the attention of several nearby Order members, who began making their way over, frowns on their faces.

Snape turned on her, his height allowing him to loom over the witch in a way he took full advantage of.

“And what exactly are you planning on doing to stop us? Perhaps you’d enjoy being on the front page of the Prophet, dragging away Harry Potter and Hermione Granger? I can only imagine how much Skeeter would pay for a picture of that” he hissed, anger sharpening his already harsh features.

Harry caught on quickly and limped up beside Severus, his fingers brushing lightly over the other man’s. “You know, I think I might even give an interview. Something about how the ministry didn’t want to send the Aurors along in the first place and how officials on sight were refusing to allow us to give needed medical support.” His green eyes were narrowed under the mop of inky hair that dripped sweat over the famous jagged scar. “ What was your name again?” Harry asked, his tone deliberately innocent.

The witch eyed him, impotent anger obvious, but stepped aside, allowing them to move into the circle of muggles.

Harry quickly opened a tab on his wrist band and began summoning healing supplies out. Hermione tried to set the little girl down but she clung tighter and began crying again. She glanced helplessly around, hoping that one of the muggles would recognize her and take her. As much as she wanted to keep her close she needed to help with the healing and would need to find someone to take her sooner or later.

Her eyes found the lanky form of Ron Weasley making his way over. He wordless held his arms out, scooping the child up and pulling her close to his chest, rocking her gently as he spoke quietly to her.

Her mind flashed to another man, equally tall; ice instead of fire, his silver eyes screaming with anguish as he held the little girl just as tightly. Ron stood silently watching as the other three approached and carefully healed, cleaned and wrapped transfigured blankets around the stunned villagers. It took them less than twenty minutes to finish, so few people remained. Harry and Snape moved stiffly towards the field as they finished, ready to head back to Grimmauld Place.

Hermione turned to leave, catching a glimpse of Ron leaning down to hand the child off to an older grey haired woman who seemed to have come back to herself enough to recognize the little girl. Silver grey eyes, pain filled and desperate rose in her mind and she turned back with a soft curse.

Hermione pulled a string from her frayed shirt and several hairs from the curls that had tumbled loosely over her shoulder. She took her wand out and wove them together, muttering spells of binding and safety, hoping it would be enough, not sure what was compelling her.

A final spell transfigured the odd assembly into a woven cloth bracelet with tiny stones suspended throughout the length. Each stone was a slightly different color, but all swirled with a lustrous sheen. Hermione walked quickly to the girls side, dropping to her knees on the soft, wet ground and holding the bracelet out.

“This will help to keep you safe,” the young witch murmured, tying it loosely around the thin wrist. A small tear streaked face nodded solemnly at her, dark brown eyes far too serious. Hermione cast a fast Notice-Me-Not charm over the bracelet, hoping to hide it from muggles and from the ministry officials that would be tasked with obliviating everyone.

Hermione sped across the field, the tears she had been holding back welling in her eyes and blurring her vision. She stumbled over dips and rocks in the soggy ground, almost running by the time she reached the outer circle of the apparition point where Harry and Snape were waiting.

Neither bothered asking if she was alright. They had been in the thick of it, had seen the same awful things she had that night. Harry just gently pushed her forward, silently urging her to leave. It took her two tries before she felt the pull of her magic sucking her through space, her last glimpse an empty field, lit red with the flickering flames of the village it had taken.

* * *

They returned to Hogwarts two days before their break officially ended, but everyone was ready to be out of the Black house and away from the library they had spent most of their time in. They had found several references to Horcruxes in books tucked away behind a hidden panel that Ron had accidentally discovered, all of the books having been purged by the ministry centuries prior. The most comprehensive of them listed the steps in totality, but warned against using it since creating a Horcrux was known to have unexpected effects on both the casters magic and their sanity.

None of the books mentioned whether it was possible to make more than one and Harry was beginning to think that Voldemort might have been the first person to try it. Even those who had no real objection to murder would hesitate at the risk of destabilizing their magic and mind.

None of them had slept well since the raid and it became a regular occurrence to find a few people talking quietly in one of the downstairs parlors in the small hours of the morning, cups of tea liberally laced with whiskey in every hand. Harry had woken up after two or three hours of sleep almost every night, either from his nightmares sending him clawing awake or the hard jerk and shuddering breaths from Severus as he dragged himself out of his torments.

Everyone had been quietly relieved when Harry had thrown down the dark arts book he was reading and announced that he was leaving. Hermione had protested weakly but fallen silent when Harry had told her she could take books with her if she was that determined.

The first day back had everyone going their separate ways without a word, all of them needing a bit of time to fall back into something that resembled normalcy.

Harry had fully intended on spending the remainder of the evening working on their nonexistent plan to corner Slughorn, and so was shocked to find himself, a full sixteen hours later, waking up on the couch, his arm and one of his legs painfully cramped from the weight of the dark haired man sprawled half over him, still sound asleep.

Harry carefully shifted, making sure to keep his movements small and slow, trying not to wake Severus. He knew he probably should, they should both be getting up and heading to the Great Hall for breakfast soon, but he found he was oddly reluctant.

Instead, he lay quietly, the dim light from the fire playing over them both. Severus was pinned between his side and the back of the couch, his long limbs sprawled out over Harry, his cheek resting on the curve of Harry’s bicep. The soft threadbare blanket that he kept on the couch had fallen off the back and pooled over both of them haphazardly.

Warm sleepy silence filled the small room, soft light illuminating the walls of books around them, Severus’ near fanatic need to learn on full display for the few people that were allowed into his sanctuary. The man himself snuffled a bit and shifted into a more comfortable position, drawing Harry’s attention to him.

Green eyes traced sharp cheekbones, up to the edge of a delicate black brow that arched over pale closed lids, thick black lashes covering the dark circles of too little sleep. The prominent nose that had been the butt of so many taunts crooked slightly on the bridge, evidence of a long healed break. Thin lips were parted slightly, the normally tight mouth soft in sleep. Inky dark hair, so black it had an almost blue sheen, fell in fine strands over his sharp jaw and draped down the length of a long and graceful neck.

Something stirred in Harry’s chest as his eyes outlined the familiar features of the man sleeping beside him. He had spent so many years learning to read this face, looking for hints of anger, of hatred, that it had taken him months to learn what amusement looked like, how concern tightened the edges of his eyes in a way rage never had.

He reached out a careful hand and pushed a strand of silky hair back, tucking it in with its fellows. The complex scent of herbs and potions mingled with something unidentifiable, something that was just Severus.

It was what his pillows smelled like when he crawled into bed, the warm scent that wrapped around him when he curled up with Severus’ favorite couch blanket. It made something in him relax in a way he couldn’t remember anything doing, not even the smell of Hedwig's feathers after she’d been flying on a cold autumn night or the golden amber scent of broomstick polish.

The murmur of the fire drifted through the room as Harry watched the slow rise and fall of the chest pressed against his side, his mind wandering idly as his fingers toyed with the length of hair he hadn’t gotten around to letting go of.

Between one breath and the next several things crashed through Harry’s understanding all at once, rather like a runaway bludger to the head.

He felt his hand freeze in an almost distant way as his whole self ground to a halt, thoughts leaping up and staring at him, obvious and blindingly bright, like stepping out into the sun when you were expecting rain.

Each though dropped itself neatly into his brain, practically shouting, neon and bold.

One, that he, Harry Bloody Potter, was lying on a couch _cuddling_ Severus Snape.

Two, that the man sleeping comfortably in his arms, a man who he had hated, who had hated him in turn and spent far more energy than was healthy making his life miserable, was utterly precious to him.

Three, that he could not remember ever feeling as content as he did in that very moment. Not at Hogwarts, or the Burrow or even, Merlin help him, with Sirius.

And four, possibly the most important, that he was completely and totally fucked.

Harry’s breathing sped up as his mind flitted wildly from memory to memory. The impact of his brain finally catching up to his heart felt like being hit by a freight train. His chest was unbearably tight and he knew his face was a mask of horror as he stared down at Severus.

“Well fuck” Harry heard his voice squeak out, so high pitched it was near inaudible. Severus shifted slightly, a small frown wrinkling his brow, and Harry absently ran fingers lightly through the long hair, settling him back into sleep.

A great many things suddenly made sense and really, he had to wonder how in the bloody hell he had missed something like this. Harry knew he could be fairly oblivious, but he had always just assumed he’d know when he went and fell in lo-

He cut the thought off in a flare of panic, in no way prepared to look any closer at what in Merlin’s name was wrong with him. He didn’t even _like_ men. Did he? And Severus Bloody Snape? The dungeon bat, most reviled of the Hogwarts professors, a man who until recently had made a fairly successful side career out of tormenting Harry?

Harry stayed painfully still, his body frozen as his thoughts spun themselves into panicked chaos. He needed to get out of here. To get somewhere he could think, maybe even talk with Hermione.

His brain stuttered again.

Hermione. She knew. The cryptic little glances, the awkward conversations that didn’t completely make sense suddenly added up and Harry did not like the result, not even a little.

“Son of a bitch” he choked out, plans to find his friend and lock her in a spare classroom until she spilled any other insights flew through his head.

“Why are you cursing so early in the morning?” his side vibrated lightly, the familiar deep voice sending a completely unfamiliar thrill through him. Harry wasn’t entirely certain if it was excitement or terror, though at this point they were probably one and the same.

“Erm..” Harry said stupidly.

“Eloquent as always Potter” came the disgruntled reply as the older wizard levered himself upright, dragging Harry’s arm with him.

Severus gave him a puzzled look and motioned impatiently with their bound wrists, obviously confused about why Harry hadn’t put his shielding up yet.

It took him two tries before the shield was in place, making Severus narrow dark eyes at him with suspicion.

“Are you alright?” he asked as he gazed down at Harry, not in the least bothered by having woken up half on top of the Savior of the Wizarding World. “You seem odd. Even for you.”

The series of mild insults managed to ground him in a way few other things would have, which he was certain said something terrible about him. He made a face at the man now looming over him like some kind of strange sleepy stork.

“I’m fine, just had weird dreams and I can’t feel the right half of my body,” Harry responded, finally regaining the ability to say something that wasn’t profanity. He got an inarticulate grunt for his trouble as Severus stretched, long arms reaching up toward the high stone ceiling.

“It’s hardly my fault your circulatory system is weak,” Snape said as he wandered off to get dressed, the hair on the back of his head a tangled mess where it had rubbed on the couch and his button down so wrinkled it looked like it might be an actual style.

A completely inappropriate surge of affection swamped Harry as he watched the other man leave, tugging the corner of his mouth up against his will.

“Fuck”

* * *

She knew something was wrong the instant she saw Harry’s face. Poorly concealed panic blazed from his eyes and he kept shying at nothing, like a startled foal. Severus was watching him with a mildly alarmed look but didn’t protest when Harry peeled off toward the Gryffindor table as soon as they walked into the room.

The great hall was sparsely populated, most students had chosen to lie in on the last day of their break. A few Gryffindors were at the opposite end of the table and there was a cheerful group of Hufflepuffs chatting across the hall. The Slytherin table was bare, none of the snakes having ventured out yet. She’d written briefly to Draco when she had gotten into her dorm the night before, getting a few terse lines in return, letting her know that he had arrived back at the castle shortly after she did.

Harry hurried over to her, sliding onto the bench with enough force to rock the whole thing, sending an undersized second year tumbling off the far end. He barely spared a glance for the stunned child, instead waving his hand around wildly and muttering “wards” at her.

She threw up enough privacy warding to make a criminal running an illicit potions operation proud and turned to her friend, real fear turning in her gut.

“Did you know? You knew didn’t you?” his voice came out strangled as he pulled on the edge of a worn and holey t-shirt that had somehow escaped the great Snape clothing purge. His hair was wild even for him and one of his pockets was partially turned out. She was frankly surprised he’d gotten out of the dungeon without being hit with a tidying charm.

“Harry it would help if I had any idea what you were talking about,” Hermione said calmly, not sure what was happening. She’d never seen him like this.

“About Severus. You knew about Severus and how I feel” he trailed off, the last few words mumbled into his lap as he twisted his fingers together.

It took her several seconds to make sense of what Harry was saying, his face turned away and worried eyes refusing to meet hers.

Relief made her sag into her seat, almost giddy with understanding. It was about time. How the two of them could spend all of their time wrapped around each other and not have figured it out yet had been driving her mad.

“Oh. That. Yes, of course, I knew” Hermione answered carefully, not sure how Harry was handling this. By the look of him, not well.

“And you didn’t tell me. Why?” Harry’s normally pleasant voice was several octaves too high, squeaking alarmingly.

“Oi, what are we plotting over here then?” Ron suddenly broke into the bubble of warding, snagging a few sausages and slices of toast off of the center platters as he sat down close enough to be included.

Harry went an unappealing shade of pasty white and shook his head so rapidly he looked like he was having a fit.

“Harry’s finally figured out that he wants to be more than friends with Snape” Hermione explained nonchalantly, scooping a bite of fluffy eggs into her mouth as Harry sputtered.

“Bout time. Even I figured it out before you mate. That should tell you something” Ron said around a mouthful of sausage.

“What in Merlin’s beard is going on?” Harry looked like he had reached his limit of emotional crisis and slowly slumped over onto the table in a lumpy pile of sad confusion.

Hermione glanced up just in time to catch Snape’s eye across the room. He was barely touching his breakfast and was staring at their group intently, his eyes flicking between her and the pitiful man beside her.

“You didn’t say anything to him did you?” she asked Harry, already knowing the answer. If he had either he wouldn’t have come upstairs because they’d have hexed each other into unconsciousness, or because of reasons she didn’t want to think too hard about where her best friend was concerned.

“Of course not. Do I look suicidal to you?” Harry muttered into the table.

“Well, you do look a bit glum mate. Tough break though” Ron grimaced in sympathy as he munched his way through his third piece of toast.

“Well I know it won’t be easy but you’ve only got one more year of school, and didn’t you say that Snape might not teach after this year?” Hermione asked.

“What are you talking about ‘Mione?” Harry gave her a befuddled look.

“I mean that you can’t get involved with a Professor, and I know that Professor Snape would never cross that line, but once you two are on more equal footing I don’t see why you couldn’t pursue something if you both wanted to” Hermione explained, ignoring the choking sound from Ron’s direction. “You two really aren’t that far apart in age and you’ve already lived together for almost half a year and you still seem to like each others company.”

Harry just stared at her like she was speaking gobbledygook, his eyes so wide that the green of them seemed to fill half his face.

“Wait a minute here, are you saying that Harry should try and what, _date_, Snape?” Ron whispered, voice incredulous.

She shot him an irritated look “Yes Ronald if that’s what they both want.”

“But.. but it’s Snape” the redhead stuttered weakly.

“We already discussed this Ron, what did you think we were talking about?” Hermione turned to fully face her taller friend, eyes narrowed dangerously.

“I thought we were just talking about Harry having some weird little crush on a teacher! Everybody has them, I mean not for Snape mind you, but his was just bad luck because he had to sleep next to him and stuff!” Ron shouted and gestured widely, drawing the attention of those around them even if they couldn’t hear.

“I mean it’s Snape Hermione. Snape. You know, the greasy git who made all of our lives harder than they had to be? The creep who marches around looking for reasons to take house points and try to expel all of us? The _Death Eater_?” Ron was in full swing now, his face flushing as his voice got louder and louder. He was so involved with naming off Snape’s faults that he missed Harry sitting up and losing his air of helplessness.

Harry’s face had gone white again but this time with anger. Cups and plates around them began rattling softly, a goblet of pumpkin juice falling over and spilling bright orange over the white table cloth. At the high table, Snape stood, alarm shooting over his face before he settled his expression into its normal sneering passivity.

Ron’s voice trailed off and his arms slowly sunk as he finally noticed the icy glare that both of his friends were leveling at him.

“Don’t call him that. He’s not a creep and he’s not greasy and he sure as fuck isn’t a Death Eater” Harry bit out. Something seemed to settle in him then, the confusion and fear slipping out of his eyes.

Harry stood abruptly and stepped out of the wards, two steps taking him to Snape’s side. The Potions Master had abandoned his breakfast in favor of coming to investigate the drama happening at the Gryffindor table. His eyes slid over her and Ron, looking very much like he might like to start doling out detentions until they told him what was wrong with Harry.

Harry shot a look at her that said clearly that they weren’t done with their conversation before he turned and stalked from the hall, Severus hesitating for only an instant before he turned to follow.

She spun on Ron, who was looking both sheepish and stubborn.

“You’re an idiot,” she said in disgust and began stuffing her bag with the books she had been reading before the boys had descended on her.

“What? You can’t seriously think that Harry trying to ask Snape out is a good idea” Ron said, a note of revulsion creeping into his voice.

“It doesn’t matter what I think Ron. What matters is that your best friend is in love with someone that you can’t go a whole conversation without insulting” she hissed, slapping the table in anger.

Ron stared at her, blue eyes wide with shock before he suddenly burst out laughing.

“Oh, that’s a good one ‘Mione. Harry’s in love with Snape. Right, and I’m planning on asking for Malfoy’s hand in marriage” he continued snickering as he shook his head at her.

“You’re an arse Ronald Weasley and if you don’t get over yourself and your stupid prejudices you’re going to lose both of us” she responded quietly, her eyes serious.

Ron’s face fell as he looked at her, seeming to realise for the first time that he had badly misread the situation. She just shook her head at him and waved her wand to dismiss the wards before she picked up her bags and walked away. He would figure it out or he wouldn’t, either way, she wasn’t about to abandon Harry.

* * *

Severus followed Harry back to their rooms, not sure how to approach whatever was bothering him. He’d been strange since they’d woken on the couch and he couldn’t figure out what had Harry so jumpy. Add to it the scene in the Great Hall and his confusion was in overdrive. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence for Weasley to end up at the wrong end of both Harry’s and Granger’s tempers but he’d rarely seen either of them so cold with him.

Now Harry was marching back to their rooms like he was on a mission, his face set in hard anger but with more surety in his step than he’d had all morning. His thin t-shirt was rucked up by the partially turned out pocket of his jeans and Severus’ fingers itched to grab his wand and set the man to rights. He’d bitten his tongue when Harry had come out that morning dressed like a homeless person, not liking the dazed look in his eyes.

They arrived back at their rooms more quickly than usual, and when Severus turned back from hanging his robes up he found Harry staring at him intently.

“You need to change unless you’ve decided you don’t like those clothes” Harry broke in, turning from him and moving to rifle through his trunk.

“Pardon me?” Severus got out, irritation flaring.

“You said you wanted to see the Basilisk and we need fangs anyway. It not exactly clean down there so I would say don’t wear your second favorite pair of trousers” Harry responded, his head buried in his trunk.

Severus grunted in acknowledgment, slightly mollified. Perhaps Harry was just on edge with the idea of going back to the chamber; it couldn’t be pleasant for him. It wasn’t until he was in the bedroom, changing into a worn pair of jeans he kept for jaunts into unpleasant places for potions ingredients that he realised that he was, in fact, wearing his second favorite pair of trousers.

He wasn’t sure what to make of that and so put the whole mess aside for later consideration.

When he got back out to the front room Harry was fiddling with his leather cuff, a sleek and shining broom leaning against his chest.

“Ready?” He asked, green eyes flashing over the tatty clothes in approval.

“I was under the impression that the chamber was underground. Why do you have a broom?” Severus eyed the contraption distrustfully. He’d always hated brooms.

“Because I don’t fancy taking the slide a second time. You’ll see” Harry waved a hand as he opened his mouth to ask what a slide had to do with a secret chamber full of giant snake.

“Come on, the entrance is on the second floor” Harry turned and led the way out, his steps more measured and less frantic than they’d been earlier. Severus rather warily approached and fell into step beside him. When he’d tried to walk next to Harry that morning he’d gotten a look like he had tried to drown kittens before the younger man had fled.

Harry started a bit but settled quickly enough, only the slight tension in his shoulders giving away his anxiety.

They made their way through the castle, past curious students who might have stopped Harry to ask what he was doing but wouldn’t stop Snape, and eventually arrived at a quiet corridor with a few disused classrooms.

Harry walked without even a hint of hesitation into the girls loo, vanishing as the door swung shut.

Severus darted in, looking around warily.

“Potter what the hell are you doing?” he whispered furiously, hoping rather desperately he wasn’t about to traumatize some first year girl.

“Relax, no one uses this bathroom on account of Myrtle. I told you about her” the response came from a bank of sinks off to the side where the Gryfindor was motioning impatiently for him to hurry up.

Severus walked over, mentally chalking today up as one of his top five for sheer confusion.

Before Severus could ask why they were huddled around a sink in a haunted girls loo Harry leaned down, and while eyeing one tap closely, began to _hiss_.

A shudder trailed down his spine at the noise. He had almost forgotten that Harry was a parselmouth, he so rarely used his gift. Severus had only heard him speak it twice, once in second year during that idiotic duel with the preening narcissist Lockhart, and again a few months prior to the tiny snake in Dumbledores office. He tried to hide how much the sound unsettled him, reminding him too much of the Dark Lord, but he caught the sad knowing look in Harry’s eyes as he straightened.

Severus’ thoughts were interrupted by a grinding noise and a puff of dust as part of the sink fell away, leaving an icy black hole in the floor, a fetid scent rising out of it. A tiny niggle of respect appeared as he realized that as a second year he must have willingly jumped into that hole. It was laced liberally with his cemented conviction that Harry was a brash idiot.

“Alright, let’s go,” Harry said off to the side. Severus turned to find the other man mounted up on his broom and scooted far enough forward to allow Severus to slide on behind him.

“If you think I’m getting on any broom, let alone one that’s being piloted by you, you’ve lost the plot,” Snape said, an appalled look on his face.

Harry gave him a long suffering look before motioning widely to the hole in the floor. “By all means, feel free. The trip down without a broom isn’t fun but if you’d rather..”

Severus was sorely tempted to simply levitate himself down, but without knowing the length of the tunnel and whether it branched somewhere along the way he could easily end up having to be rescued and he was completely certain that his pride would kill him if Potter had to come fish him out of some dank hole in the floor.

Snape gave Harry a withering look but threw his leg over the broom, grumbling quietly about the stupidity of hidden chambers.

He wrapped his arms tightly around Harry, snugging himself a bit more closely than was necessary. He knew logically that Harry was damn good in the air but he had an irrational fear of brooms after being knocked off one by Black in first year.

Harry made an odd choked sound as he settled in but kicked off lightly, sending them a foot or so off the ground and hovering for a moment until Severus’ death grip loosened a bit. He tilted the broom, slowly moving forward until they were at the edge of the hole.

Harry pulled his wand out and conjured a bright floating orb of fire and fixed it in the air just over their heads. Without another word his shoulders tensed, giving Severus only a seconds warning before they were spiraling down into darkness.

They moved surprisingly smoothly, the frisson of fear from the first shock of cold air and face down tilt of the broom lessening as Snape realised that Harry wasn’t going to send them tumbling into the unknown.

Slime coated walls flashed by, lit up for only an instant as they moved ever downward. The cold increased as they descended, the feeling slowly leeching out of his face and the tips of his ears. He finally cast a wordless and wandless warming charm over them both, earning himself a small huff of appreciation he felt more than heard.

It took far longer to reach the bottom than Severus had expected. Harry leveled the broom out and pulled up, coming to a gentle stop over ground covered in animal bones.

“We must be well below the dungeons” his voice broke the silence and echoed loudly around the chamber that looked more like a cave than any part of the school.

Harry nodded and propped the broom against the wall after they had dismounted, boots crunching unpleasantly and sending up small puffs of brittle, calcified dust.

“Lumos” the younger wizard muttered as he lifted his wand to point at what Severus had initially thought was a rougher wall but upon closer inspection proved to be a loose pile of rubble.

A small hole near the top, barely large enough to admit a full sized adult, was the focus of Harry’s wand light.

“Looks like the ceiling didn’t fall any further,” he said quietly as he moved toward the rubble and began picking his way carefully across it.

Severus made a face at his back but pulled out his wand and added to the meager light as they scrambled toward the top.

Severus cast several rapid stabilizing charms as Harry ducked through the hole, twisting awkwardly to fit out the opposite side, which seemed to be thinner. Lovely.

A moment later and Severus found himself cursing his extra height, not for the first time. He slammed his head into a dip in the ceiling and scraped a strip of skin off the back of his hand before he made it through, stumbling slightly down the other side.

A strong hand wrapped around his arm, pulling him upright and steadying him on the uneven ground. The flickering of the ball of fire that Harry had sent ahead of them clashed with the lumos of their wands, throwing layers of shadows over everything and tricking his depth perception.

“You alright?” Harry asked.

Severus just nodded as he rubbed resentfully at the knot already forming on the crown of his head. He was putting a cushioning charm on everything on the way back.

Once they were clear of the rubble the floor evened out, the bones becoming less and less frequent. Light reflected suddenly on the dull shine of scales resting against the wall and Severus felt his breath freeze in his chest.

“It’s just the shed skin. The snake is through the next chamber” Harry stated, having noticed the falter in Severus’ steps.

His mind boggled at the size of the skin. If the thing had shed this then it had to be larger than that. The skin itself must have been nearly forty feet long.

He was still focused on the empty shell when he heard the now more familiar hiss and jerked around to see Harry standing in front of a set of enormous doors that slowly unlocked and swung ponderously open at his command.

“Incendio” Harry’s raised voice echoed through the large chamber as he strode in, his spell bringing scores of torches all around the walls to life.

Severus blinked at the sudden flare of light as he followed Harry into the room where Tom Riddle had nearly managed to bring himself back to life for the first time.

A huge statue stood at the end of the chamber, the carefully hewn and polished stone an ostentatious tribute to Salazar Slytherin. The chamber itself was mostly empty and so cold his breath fogged in front of him. It took him only a moment before his eyes locked on the body of the great snake that Harry was already striding toward.

It was bigger even than the skin outside would have indicated. It had an odd sunken look, like it had deflated, the outline of bones clear through the sag of the deep green scales. The chill of the chamber along with whatever magics it was layered with must have kept the serpent fairly intact. As it was it looked closer to mummified than four years dead.

Severus stepped carefully closer, his eyes widening as he saw the size discrepancy between Potter and the snake, even now, when the man was at his full height and decently muscled from years of quidditch. He couldn’t imagine the scrawny thirteen year old that he remembered from second year facing this monster, let alone successfully killing it; yet here it was, proof that the ridiculous reputation he had been so certain was propelled by an inflated ego and a great deal of exaggeration was honestly earned.

“You killed this thing?” he heard his voice crack out.

“I had a bit of help” Harry shot him a wry half smile as he waved his wand and forced the mouth of the great serpent open.

“Alright, you and a bird killed this thing” Severus amended, his stomach turning a bit as a mouth full of teeth were revealed. The jagged puncture scar on Harry’s arm became alarmingly less abstract as he reached into the mouth to yank more teeth out.

“Wait you idiot” Severus’ shout made Harry jerk his hand back, shooting him a startled look.

“Do you want to have phoenix tears poured on you again?” he snapped, his heart stuttering a bit at how close Harry had been to the razor sharp ends of the teeth.

“You brought some with you didn’t you?” Harry asked suspiciously, taking a few steps back from the snake.

“Of course I did. I knew you were going to be near something that is damn near incurable. The chances you find some way to poison yourself with it are high.” Severus ignored the sputtering denial coming from the younger man as he opened the expandable pouch he had tied to his belt and began to pull out a variety of knives and heavy gloves.

“So likely the venom is dried in the sacs above the teeth and will need to be re-hydrated, but we are taking no chances” Severus instructed as he handed Harry a pair of heavy dragonhide gloves.

After suiting up properly they both got to work, Harry following along as Severus showed him how to cut into the dry flesh of the jaw and slice through the tendons that controlled the movement of the teeth. Soon they had a large pile in a small heavily warded chest that he had brought along for the purpose.

Harry stepped back, taking his gloves off and wiping a line of sweat from his brow with the back of his arm.

“Is that all then?” Harry asked.

“I believe that should be more than sufficient for our purposes,” Severus said, his eyes dancing rather longingly over the rest of the snake.

“Did you need something else off of it?” Harry inquired, catching his look.

“No, this is all we need to destroy the Horcruxes” Severus hesitated a moment before hurrying on “it is just that legal Basilisk scales are incredibly hard to procure and the main ingredient in more than a few very useful potions.” He could feel the flush in his cheeks as he skirted around asking Potter directly if he could have one or two of them. He despised asking for things; it always felt like begging.

“Oh, well why didn’t you take any then?” Harry asked, confusion on his face.

“Because Potter, this entire animal legally belongs to you. You killed it in self-defense, one of the only accepted ways to procure anything from a Basilisk, making it your choice to do with as you would.” Severus snapped, his voice harsher than he intended, a part of him certain now that Harry knew he could deny him, he would.

“Oh,” Harry muttered, eyes wide. “Well, I’m hardly going to use it. If you want it it’s yours” he motioned to the snake carelessly.

Severus choked a bit as he stared at Harry, nearly sending himself into a coughing fit.

“You can’t just give me a Basilisk” he croaked.

“Why the hell not? You just said I can do what I want with it” a frown had taken up residence on Potter's face, his green eyes narrowed in irritation.

“Well yes, but do you have any idea how much money this is worth? You can’t just give away something like that you idiot” it belatedly occurred to him that perhaps he shouldn’t be insulting the man that was trying to give him a king's ransom in rare scales.

Surprisingly his outburst put a small smile on Harry’s face. “Severus, I’m the head of both the Potter and Black houses. I may not be able to throw a stone at the kind of money Malfoy has but I’m nowhere near poor. Besides it’s not like I would have the first idea on how to even get the scales off or who to talk to if I wanted to sell them.”

An unpleasant jolt shot through him at Harry’s words. Somehow, in all the months they had been together, even when Harry had pulled out the enormous list of properties when they were looking for somewhere to store Narcissa, it had escaped his attention that Harry was technically a Lord.

Something petty and awful welled in the back of his throat, making him want to lash out as he was reminded once again of the squalor he had come from.

He stilled as he dragged in a few tight breaths of the chilly air.

For possibly the first time in his life, he forced it down, quelling the vicious words. Harry wasn’t his father and he certainly wasn’t Black, even if he had inherited both of their titles. He wasn’t taunting Severus, only trying to reassure him that he didn’t have any true need for what he was trying to hand over.

“Very well. But I cannot accept it in its totality. I would be happy to harvest and sell the majority of the scales for you in exchange for twenty percent of them to do with as I wished.”

The request was ridiculous and he fully expected Harry to counter with a much more reasonable five percent, but he had forgotten that the Gryffindor had never been able to act in an even remotely predictable manner.

“Nope. You’ll take sixty percent for the work you’ll have to put in with all this” Harry grinned at him, looking like a lunatic standing next to a giant creature out of legend and trying his damndest to give the monster away.

Severus just shook his head weakly, not willing to argue further in case he somehow ended up with eighty percent. Sixty percent would give him a lifetime supply and enough gold that he could comfortably spend the rest of his days experimenting with the scales he kept.

He blinked rather stupidly at his sudden windfall, suddenly sure that all of the luck that had been missing in his life had chosen to appear only in the last few months. He knew Harry was generous; hell he’d watched him give an entire house to Granger when she offhandedly mentioned how much she liked it, but he had never expected that generosity to extend to him.

It took them the rest of the day to skin the Basilisk, along with a trip back to his lab to gather more supplies, and by the time they were done they had missed dinner and were both covered in sludgy black blood that smelled so awful that it had sent them both fleeing the chamber, retching, after the first cut. Bubble heads charms got them through it and they cast enough cleaning charms on each other to leave their skin pink and a little raw, but the scent lingered.

“We’re going to have to burn these clothes” Snape muttered as they climbed back onto the broom for their final trip.

Harry grimaced but nodded as the ascended at a slow, stately pace. He knew that Harry was flying carefully because of him and he could almost relax now that he knew there wouldn’t be any sort of alarming acrobatics. Really, flying wasn’t completely awful if no one was yanking the broom out from under him, leaving him to claw wildly at the air as he plummeted. He would never admit it, but Harry was exceptional on a broom and the level of control he had over it went a long way toward soothing Severus’ panic.

When they slid into bed that night, both exhausted from the day and not ready to resume classes, Harry kept himself at arm's length, his body held stiffly away.

Severus scowled over at the lump that was typically pressed against him. A tiny pang of hurt shot through him before he crushed it mercilessly. Why should it bother him if Potter wanted to isolate himself? Perhaps he simply needed space, and Merlin knew how difficult getting true privacy was with their situation.

A sharp sigh interrupted his musing, followed shortly by Harry murmuring a near silent “fuck” before he rolled himself closer, taking up his usual position, twisted on his side toward Severus, their bound wrists tucked up under his pillow.

Severus pulled back a bit, giving the firmly closed eyes and stubbornly set mouth a puzzled look before eventually giving in and flopping onto his pillow.

Why did he have to get the one Gryffindor that was impossible to understand?

* * *

Hermione kept a close eye on Harry over the following week, not getting the chance to talk with him except in passing and or with a group of other people nearby. He didn’t seem to be set on cornering her again either, and she couldn’t decide whether that was good or bad.

Overall he seemed to settle more as the week wore on, falling back into near normal behavior, though he was still avoiding Ron.

She’d spent her nights increasingly frustrated as she tried to think of any way to corner Slughorn that didn’t involve an assault charge and an uncomfortable conversation with Aurors, with little luck.

By the time Friday night rolled around she found herself enclosed in her four poster, a sprawl of books on everything from temporary mind control to objects that could hold short term truth spells.

She sighed, running her fingers through her hair as she absently noted that she would need to cut it soon.

On impulse, she reached over and flipped the notebook open to see if Draco had written anything. It was blank, just as it had been all week. She’d tried writing to him a few times and gotten brief perfunctory replies but nothing else. When she’d asked him how he was doing he’d simply refused to answer.

Every time she had seen him in the halls he’d been wane and withdrawn, usually surrounded by a small pack of Slytherins. Parkinson had been a particularly noticeable addition to his arm, making no secret of her intentions to be the next Mrs. Malfoy. His typical rebuff of her seemed to have worn down, his attention turned inward.

Hermione drew her knees up and pressed her forehead to them, frustrated with everything and not knowing how to get him to _talk_ to her. He needed to talk to someone. She didn’t know what he’d seen or had to do, but the haunted look in his eyes reminded her too much of Harry’s when he’d reappeared clutching Cedric Diggory’s body in fourth year.

She lifted her head in consideration as a thought occurred to her. She’d been approaching him like she would have Harry or Ron, who both trusted her and did better with straight forward questions, but Malfoy wasn’t anything like them. In fact, he was a whole lot more like her. She’d gone up against him often enough academically and spent enough time researching with him to know better than to approach him head on.

She would need to sneak up on him, and for that, she would need bait.

A small smile bloomed as she leaned over to pick up the notebook and begin writing.

_ **When you have a few minutes could you write me back? I’m stuck on a problem for the Order and while I can’t write out all of the details I thought perhaps you might know of a better solution than I’ve found so far.** _

She paused, trying to decide exactly how much she could divulge to him.

_ ** There is a memory that we need, badly, one that could help us with the war. We were given a falsified one and we need to figure out how to retrieve the real one without someone ending up in Azkaban. It’s Slughorn’s memory.** _

She tacked the last on reluctantly, but the who of it was fairly important in the whole planning portion.

She waited and when no answer was forthcoming she added a few notes to her ongoing list and cleaned up her bed, stretching a bit before slipping her shoes on and heading down to get a quick bite to eat before she fell back into the morass of memory hunting.

When she got to the Great Hall it was mostly empty, just a few platters left on the tables and a small scattering of students. She didn’t bother sitting, instead filling a plate with a few things before heading back to her dorm. She felt oddly impatient, a low tingle running under her skin and making her jumpy.

She was taking a quick shortcut up past the History classroom and had just passed a small shadowed alcove when a spell struck her, sending her plate shattering to the ground as she was slammed hard into the stone wall on her right.

She felt her shoulder give with a sickening pop, the pain making her head spin. The wand she had yanked from her pocket fell from nerveless fingers as they spasmed and was summoned the instant it clattered to the ground by her feet.

Hermione turned slowly to face the group of four that were approaching, their voices loud as they jostled each other, laughing at their game. At their head was Nott, who was spinning her pale vine wood wand in his fingers, a nasty glint in his eye as he sauntered closer.

Her left hand was wrapped shakily around her dislocated shoulder and she was desperately trying to center herself enough to drag her magic up, hoping against hope that she might be able to summon some small amount of something to protect herself.

Hermione’s eyes flicked to each of the boys as they stepped into the torchlight. In the back stood the towering form of Goyle, no real expression on his face as he followed behind Crabbe. Vincent was giving her a look that made her skin try to crawl off and hide.

Standing to the side of Nott was a seventh year Slytherin she’s seen a few times. He was small and thin with mousy brown hair and she couldn’t dredge up his name.

“Well look what we’ve found, a filthy little animal running around our castle” Nott suddenly spoke, dragging her attention back to him.

Hermione chose not to respond, letting her eyes wander and trying to find a way out before this got worse than it was. Her gaze landed on the startled eyes of a woman in a lone painting just down the hall, her robes several centuries out of date. The long dead witch nodded to her quickly before she turned and ran from her frame, hopefully going for help.

“What, nothing to say for yourself mudblood? Not so mouthy when you don’t have Potter to back you up are you?” Nott spoke again, spitting the words in her direction. He’d stopped several lengths away, obviously smart enough to guess that she wouldn’t hesitate to physically attack him.

“And what should I say, Nott? That you’ve already gotten yourself expelled? You assaulted a prefect while yelling blood slurs. Last I checked we still considered that a hate crime.” Hermione responded, straightening her spine and raising her chin in challenge.

Nott started laughing, the cruel sound sparking chuckles in the other three.

“Oh, Granger if you think you’re going to remember this little encounter you’re very wrong. When you wake up you’ll be completely convinced it was that idiot Weasley who attacked you. You had such a convenient fight after all.”

Hermione felt ice slide through her veins. She knew that Harry would investigate, that it would eventually come out, but she would really rather avoid whatever horrible things they were planning and the subsequent memory modification.

“If you think you’re going to get away with this you really are an idiot. Must be all the inbreeding” she said with a vicious smile. If she could just delay a little longer then maybe whoever the portrait found would manage to come and scare them off. Merlin, she hoped it wasn’t some poor first year.

“I’m going to enjoy teaching you how to keep your mouth shut Granger” Nott snarled, anger clear in his eyes.

Hermione had an instant to realise she had miscalculated the impact her last insult would have as Nott raised his wand and sent a curse flying at her.

She ducked to the side, just the edge catching her and slicing a burning cut across her jaw and abused shoulder. She stifled the noise of pain that tried to escape and threw her left hand up just at the mousy haired boy sent something bright red and pulsing at her.

A thin, wavering shield formed in front of her, magic pouring from her so fast she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long. The curse bounced off and clipped Crabbe on the leg, setting his robes on fire and sticking like napalm.

The next few moments were a blur of painful near misses and a small shield that was shakier each time she called it up. Eventually, as she knew it would, her magic failed. She reached for it and felt only a painful dry sort of tug at her center, nothing left.

Hermione straightened as much as she could, cuts and bruises pulling at her as she stared down the small, vile group that had her cornered. A slow, mean smile inched its way over Nott’s face as he realised that she wasn’t able to keep fighting.

As the first curse hit her and sent her flying backwards toward the wall, her gaze flicked up just in time to meet beautiful silver eyes, filled with horror.

“Draco” she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry. I promise I'm posting more soon.


	12. Chapter 12

_Well we’re broken open baby_  
_Maybe just a crack_  
_I swore I heard you whisper that you preferred us like that_  
-Southern Star, Gregory Isakov

Draco could barely feel damp chill of the air as he shuffled aimlessly down the empty corridor, lost in more than one way. His normally neatly pressed trousers were wrinkled and had a small dark stain where he’d absently splashed coffee. His robes were unbuttoned and he hadn’t seen his tie since midweek. Rough stubble covered his cheeks, less noticeable than some by virtue of the icy pale colour, and his hair was a disarray.

He couldn’t seem to shake the strange detachment that had been with him since he had let go of Granger and the little girl and had just left them there; all alone on the edge of a burning town.

He had spent the remainder of his break locked in his suite, telling everyone he was catching up on estate business when he simply couldn’t face any of them without doing something that would get him killed. He’d only been interrupted once, by his aunt, who had told him under no uncertain terms that if anyone asked Avery had died at the hands of the Order. It wouldn’t do to have it get around that one of the inner circle of Death Eaters had been taken out by a muggle with a kitchen knife.

He couldn’t remember ever feeling so confused. He felt like his entire world had been tilted on its axis, leaving him scrambling to catch the sliding pieces of his life.

He could remember sitting at Father’s knee and listening to the proud lineage of the Malfoy line, no older than the little girl he had held so tightly. He remembered his father teaching him about dangerous animals, magical and not, and having muggles listed among them.

Contrary to what most would believe, purebloods didn’t hate muggles, they just saw them as inferior, in need of guidance and caretakers. Perhaps there were one or two you were fond of, they could even be useful on occasion, but you certainly didn’t invite them in for tea, or Merlin forbid, marry them.

Muggleborns were seen as freaks, unfit to live in either world. He had been taught that muggles were stupid and easily cowed, though dangerous in large numbers. That even though they looked like him, he shouldn’t expect them to behave at all like magical kind.

Until he came to Hogwarts he’d had very limited contact with muggleborns and almost none with full blood muggles. Over the past several months, talking regularly with Granger, researching with her and learning how she thought, a sliver of doubt would sometimes worm its way into his mind. Perhaps it was just her though; maybe she didn’t know that one of her parents was actually magical.

He’d managed to almost convince himself that she was at least half magical, and her parents simply hadn’t told her, or that maybe she’d been adopted. A half blood that could not only keep up with him but regularly outstrip him, was much more palatable than a muggleborn doing the same.

But then everything changed. He’d stood silently and watched a woman who was supposed to be little better than a clever ape stand up to a wizard, not because she didn’t understand how dangerous he was, but because she did.

He’d watched the same emotions flash over her face that had once danced across his Mother’s when his father had told her he was to receive the Dark Mark. It had been so unsettling that those images were the ones that kept replaying in his head and waking him up from the small snatches of sleep he had managed.

When he had returned to Hogwarts he had very quietly ordered several books on muggles to be delivered discreetly. He’d even ordered a few muggle written “science” books, their small version of magic.

He’d barely slept since he’d received them. He’d neglected his homework, skipped several classes and was barely seen outside his bed hangings. The books about muggles had been interesting but written from the perspective of a witch or wizard and most of them had an odd feeling of political pushing, too cheerful and skimming past anything that could be seen as unfavorable.

But the science books. Merlin help him, the science books. He’d had to order others at lower levels, finally resulting in him getting a stack of books meant for primary school children. He’d devoured them, concepts like electricity and atoms, light as packets and waves, an invisible quantum world and evolution making his brain spin. The muggles hadn’t made some small, weak substitute for magic like purebloods thought, they had discovered everything. And when this world hadn’t had enough mysteries left they’d turned their eyes to the stars.

He learned that they had visited the moon, sent creatures made of metal and wires throughout the solar system and spoke with them using nothing but light. They had looked into the very edges of the universe and seen the first galaxies birthed. They had watched stars explode in wonderous, fiery deaths that gave life to everything. They’d mapped the very cosmos while wizards were busy fighting about whether or not they were animals.

Everything he’d been taught was wrong, was so very small. He’d spent a full night reading evolutionary theory and had at least a general understanding of what mutations were now. It was easy to see that they were the same species, just jogged a little apart some time very far in the past by a beneficial mutation. He was no different from that little girl he had held but for a small twist of DNA.

Draco could acknowledge that he had come over to the side of the Order with the sole purpose of saving someone he loved and maybe even himself, but he’d not truly let go of the idea that if things went very wrong he might be able to just slide back over the line. Sometime in the last week, he had felt it slip away.

He had finally taken a break, carefully placing a book with beautifully elegant mathematical theories under his pillow so he could take a walk and try to settle his thoughts. He knew he should speak with Granger. He’d seen her worried looks and besides, she’d been raised in that world. She’d seen any number of things he’d read about first hand and could perhaps even answer some of the questions that wouldn’t quiet themselves.

Draco looked up with a frown as he heard a strange pattering coming down the hall toward him, like very small footsteps, as if a gnome were sprinting down the corridor. Nothing came around the darkened corner though and he sighed as he turned to head back to the dungeons. He’d grab the notebook and try to speak with Granger, knowing that a huge amount of his reluctance stemmed from admitting that not only he but the whole Malfoy line, had been grossly mistaken.

The noise picked up again just as he was leaving the hallway, but this time was accompanied by a muffled shout.

“You, young man, I require your assistance immediately” a small painted figure in antique dress robes spoke, bringing his attention to the painting just to his left. She looked terribly out of place, the scene a bucolic field of ripened wheat with a worn barn in the background.

Draco just rolled his eyes and kept walking. She probably just wanted her portrait moved to a new location. It wasn’t uncommon for the new students to be tricked into relocating half the portraits in the castle in the first few weeks of term before they learned better.

“They are going to hurt her if you don’t hurry!” the painting shouted at his back, managing much more volume than he would have expected a canvas to be capable of.

Draco slowed to a halt and trotted back to the painting, reluctant but curious. It wasn’t often that portraits got involved in student fights, and even then they almost always went to the heads of house or the Headmaster.

“Who is going to hurt who?” he asked, brow raised and wondering if he had stepped into a rather clever frame moving scam.

The woman frowned at him in frustration and stamped her tiny foot “The girl, the Gryffindor girl. Those awful boys are hurting her and someone needs to help!” The portrait looked more and more frantic as she spoke, but Draco had stopped listening at ‘Gryffindor girl’. He had no reason to think it was her but he was just as certain that it would be. Potter’s attraction of danger spread to those around him.

“Where is she” he demanded, snapping his attention back to the witch. Even if it was just a small squabble between lower years, he should break it up, what with being a prefect and all.

“Near the History of Magic classroom. Please hurry, they took her wand” the woman pleaded, ringing delicate oil painted hands.

A thrill of fear shot through him at that and without another word he took off running in the direction he’d originally been heading. The odd pitter-patter sounded behind him, now obvious as the sound of small painted feet running between frames.

Draco took the next two corners at speed, only keeping his feet due to the no slip charms on his boots. He pelted down the corridor toward the classroom, his wand clenched tightly in his fist. He slowed a little just before the last corner, the sound of voices and flash of spells drifting around to him. His stomach twisted as he recognized Theo’s voice.

Draco rounded a battered suit of armor, his wand raised and watched as a flimsy shield flickered out of existence, leaving a bruised and battered Granger in clear view. She had a nasty cut along the right side of her face that had coated her neck and shirt in blood, and her right arm was hanging oddly. She was trying to pull herself up, gritting her teeth as she straightened her back and lifted her chin.

It took him an instant too long to understand that her magic was gone, that he’d come in just in time to save her and once again found himself frozen off to the side and watching a woman get cursed.

Theo’s spell hit her dead center in the chest, lifting her into the air with the force of it. Warm golden brown eyes met his down the hall, and her pain tight expression flashed into one of relief as she mouthed his name, just before she slammed into the wall behind her and the corridor echoed with the sickening sound of cracking bone.

Granger slid bonelessly to the floor, slumped over and not moving. He couldn’t tell if she was breathing.

She’d thought he was going to save her, she’d seen him and trusted that he would save her.

A painfully tight ball of anger and fear knotted his stomach and before he knew what he was doing his feet were pulling him forward, wand raised and stunning spells already flying toward Goyle and Crabbe.

The two hulking forms fell with soft thuds, almost as bonelessly as Granger had, revealing Arnold Hughes, a seventh year that had a reputation for liking to dole out pain and had caused the girls of the Slytherin dorm to put a blanket ban on being alone with him, which was announced loudly in the girls dorms at the start of each year.

Theo was standing over Granger and twisted around at the sound of the other two falling.

“Draco? What the hell are you doing?” He sounded more puzzled than alarmed and kept his wand pointed at the woman on the floor. Her distinctive pale wand was peeking out of the pocket of his robes.

Draco felt his face twisted in rage, the panic and horrible guilt that had dug fingers deep into his mind over the last two weeks flaring viciously. Without looking he slammed Hughes with a wordless incarcerous, catching a glimpse of the startled face as he fell backward with a yell.

Theo turned and raised his wand, eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what you think you’re playing at Malfoy but you’re not getting credit for this with the Dark Lord, it was my plan and I carried it through, unlike some of us” Nott sneered at him.

Draco didn’t say anything, just slashed his wand in the direction of his fellow Slytherin, sending a petrifying jinx his way. Theo blocked it with a startled look and backed a step, raising a shield as Draco sent an overpowered stunner at him.

“What the fuck Malfoy? Do you really think you can get away with attacking me?” Nott’s face was screwed up in a scowl as he stumbled further down the hall.

Draco stepped forward quickly, maneuvering until he could get himself between Nott and the fallen Gryffindor. Grangers hair had fallen over her face and her body was twisted at an unnatural angle, shards of broken pottery all around her. She looked so small.

Something in his face must have given him away. He’d had shit control over his emotions the last few months and the raid had made it so much worse.

“You’re trying to save her!” Theo shouted from down the hall with an incredulous expression.

A nasty look came over his face and he looked at Draco with disgust. “I thought you knew better than to get attached to some mudblood whore” he snarled.

Draco ignored the other man in favor of flinging a bright, splashing orange spell that Weasley had hit him with a few weeks before. It didn’t do anything damaging, just lit up and dyed everything around it, including the person, neon orange. It did, however, have the extremely useful ability to slide through almost any shield.

As it flew off Draco reached out with his magic and _twisted_, forcing a stunning spell into the center of it. It flew through Nott’s shield like it was made of thick pudding before bursting around him.

When the light cleared Nott was flat on his back and a truly appalling colour.

Draco quickly hit the stunned Slytherins with incarcerous and locking charms, keyed only to himself before he spun and knelt next to Granger.

He carefully pushed her hair back from her face only to grit his teeth as he caught a glimpse of the bruising already forming around both her eyes and along the shadow under her jaw.

“Fuck” he cursed softly, hating that he’d not invested the time to learn a patronus charm. It had been so heavily associated with that stupid club of Potter’s that none of the Slytherins had learned it, even though all of them were curious and it was dead useful.

“Dobby” he shouted, hoping the strange little elf would answer him and would be able to keep his mouth shut about what he saw.

A sharp crack and an instant later he was staring down the lightly glowing finger of an enraged elf.

“You be hurting Ms. Hermione. Dobby does not let anyone hurt his friends” he shrilled, the finger under Draco’s nose glowing an alarming white.

“Wait, no I didn’t hurt her, they did” he hissed, motioning to the trussed-up bundles around them. “I need help getting her to the hospital wing. I need you to get Madam Pomfrey as quickly as you can” his voice had taken on a panicked edge as he spoke, but the elf had slowly lowered his hand as he spoke, tea cozy tilting alarmingly as Dobby took in the carnage around them.

“I be getting Ms. Pomfrey” the small creature announced suddenly, snapping away.

Draco felt his hands shaking as he looked over the small woman on the floor. She was breathing in small pained gasps, her body fighting to get air in. He wanted desperately to straighten her limbs but knew better than to move her without the proper stabilization spells.

A sudden crack made him jump and spin, his wand coming up to face the new threat.

A frazzled looking healer stood just behind him, Dobby clinging to her hand.

“Mr. Malfoy is saying to bring Ms. Pomfrey as quickly as Dobby can, so we is here,” the elf said with satisfaction.

“Move Malfoy” the mediwitch immediately knelt by Granger, her confusion clearing with remarkable speed, and began casting so quickly that he could barely understand the words.

“Dobby go tell the Headmaster to meet us in the hospital wing then go get Severus and bring him here. He can handle whatever this is.”

Madam Pomfrey turned to look at him as she carefully levitated Granger off the floor, leaving behind splotches of rapidly cooling blood.

“Mr. Malfoy I need you to stay here. It wouldn’t do for anyone to find whatever it is that happened here before we can clean up” she said with a pointed look. He nodded quickly and she swept off, leaving him alone with four insensible housemates, the house elf had disappeared as soon as she finished issuing commands.

The corridor was unnervingly silent as her footsteps faded away and Draco found himself pacing, nervously smoothing his hair. He was going to have to go join Mother after this. There was no chance that Nott wouldn’t tell his father, even if he had come to the wrong conclusion, his consorting with and defending a muggleborn would be enough to condemn him in the eyes of the Dark Lord.

Crabbe and Goyle were just starting to stir when the sound of running footsteps came echoing around the corner. Draco raised his wand, not sure what he was planning on doing if it was anyone other than his Godfather, but prepared anyway.

Potter rounded the corner first, his wand clutched in his fist and breathing hard. Severus was on his heels, his longer legs barely keeping up with the younger man’s better stamina. Surprisingly Potter snapped his wand back into his sleeve when he saw that Draco had already detained everyone. He could remember a time not long ago when he would have found himself on the wrong end of Potter’s wand at the mere mention of Granger being injured.

“What happened?” Severus got out, his chest heaving as he tried to drag air in.

“I was walking, a portrait found me and told me someone was being attacked. I followed it here and found these four had cornered Granger” Draco explained quickly, keeping a close eye on Potter in case he suddenly decided all present Slytherins were to blame.

“Is she alright?” the quiet question, full of pained concern but no accusation, caught him off guard. Potter seemed torn between staying and dealing with the students on the floor and sprinting off to the hospital wing.

“I don’t know. It didn’t look good” he answered just as softly. “They took her wand. I didn’t get here in time to stop them.”

Draco found himself looking at the toes of his boots, unable to make himself meet the Gryffindor’s eyes. If he had just run a little faster, had started casting as soon as he came around the corner, maybe she wouldn’t have been so hurt.

The blond started sharply when a solid hand came down on his shoulder.

“You got her out and you got her help, that’s what matters. Mione isn’t easy to take down, I’m sure she’ll be up in no time” Potter murmured.

Draco shook off the shock of finding himself on the receiving end of Potter’s reassurances and moved to help his godfather. Severus was slowly flipping the other Slytherin’s onto their backs as they woke up. Crabbe and Goyle were both mostly awake but confused, having not seen who stunned them.

Hughes was glaring at the ceiling silently, refusing to look at his head of house. Nott was just starting to stir and jerk against his bindings.

“Traitor” Nott hissed as he was turned and his eyes landed on Severus.

“Yes Mr. Nott, I am, but long before this war.” Severus tugged a bit at the ropes around him before shooting Draco an approving glance.

Draco could hear the grinding of teeth from Potter as he stopped himself from saying anything to them.

Draco walked over and slid Granger’s wand from Theo’s pocket, hesitating only a moment before he handed it over to Potter. “You’ll see her long before I do I’m sure. She’ll want that back” he muttered.

Harry nodded to him, a thoughtful look on his face.

“Blood traitor” Nott choked out as he looked at Draco in horror, the full implications finally coming to him. “The Dark Lord will kill you for this. How could you side with them over our people?” Theo sounded honestly confused and a little betrayed. They’d grown up together, had been raised with the same values, the same prejudices, and up until recently had both fully believed in them.

Severus flicked his wand and put all four of the Slytherins up against the wall, forcing them into an awkward and uncomfortable seated position.

“Draco, how much of their memory needs modifying? The last hour?” Severus asked as he looked thoughtfully down at the sprawl of would be Death Eaters.

“Hour and a half to be safe I’d say” Draco responded, confused. Unless he was planning on wiping their memories entirely and turning them into Lockharts, the incident would be retrievable. It would likely do permanent damage getting the memory back, but that wouldn’t stop the Dark Lord.

“Tippy” Severus called out. He was rewarded a second later as his house elf appeared.

“Please retrieve the potion in the light blue bottle from my lab. It will be on the top locked shelf and has a red wax seal.” The small elf nodded and snapped away.

“Harry, have you got your dragonhide gloves on you?” Severus asked, turning to the younger man.

Potter said something very quietly as he pressed a finger to the brown leather wristband he had started wearing recently. A tab popped open and he flicked his wand in a quick _accio_, a pair of gloves flying out of the impossibly small opening. He handed them to Snape just as the elf popped back and gave the potion to him.

Without a word, Snape pulled a silver knife from his robes as he knelt in front of Goyle. The large man’s eyes flew wide and panicked as his head of house leaned over him. Snape put the gloves on and broke the seal on the potion, dipping the slender blade into the neck of the bottle and removing a drop of shimmering ice blue potion.

“Harry, hold him still,” Severus said as he inched closer to the struggling man.

Potter moved without question and pushed his whole weight onto Goyle, grabbing his jaw in a painful grip when he saw that Severus was focused on his forehead.

Snape leaned carefully forward and smeared the potion just under Goyle's hairline with the flat of the blade. It was only seconds before the mud brown eyes went hazy and blank.

“You can let him go now,” Severus said as he stood, moving toward Crabbe.

Potter moved on with him without further instruction, and it took them only minutes to repeat the procedure with each of the bound men.

Severus stripped out of Harry’s gloves and handed them back after closing the bottle and cleaning off his knife. He motioned to Draco to release the incarcerous spell on the now quiet and confused Slytherins.

“Draco, you can go back to your dorm. I’ll be replacing a few of their memories before I send them back” Severus said to him.

Draco gave him a puzzled look but nodded, trusting that whatever method his godfather had used would keep him safe. He trotted quickly down the hall, hearing Severus’ deep voice go stern as he berated the group of boys for being out after curfew.

He made it back to the dorm without incident and tucked himself into bed. He listened as his year mates settled, and the complaints about Snape daring to take points when the group that attacked Granger filtered back in, seemingly unaware of their violent actions.

Draco lay awake as everyone fell asleep, staring up at the canopy of his bed, unable to shake that last desperate, trusting look that she’d given him.

No one had ever looked at him like that, like he could save them.

And Merlin help him, he wanted to.

* * *

Hermione woke in the dark, faint moonlight flickering down through the high windows of the hospital wing. She came awake all at once, the sharp pounding in her head barely dulled by the fuzzy feeling of pain potions. She stayed very still, waiting for the tide of nausea to die down as she listened.

The smallest scuff of a shoe on the tile floors echoed around her, coming from the other side of the curtain. She inched her hand up, finding her wand on the bedside table where someone must have left it, and carefully, slowly, pulled it back under the covers with her.

She left her eyes closed to near slits, focusing on the vague rippling outline of someone coming around the end of her bed, a disillusionment charm making them hard to focus on. The very tip of her wand poked out from the edge of the covers, tracking the person.

Just as she was trying to pull together enough magic from her painfully depleted core to send a stunner out, the spell dissolved, revealing an exhausted looking Draco stepping quietly over to the visitors chair and slumping down.

“Damn it Malfoy, I almost stunned you” she hissed, making him jump and shoot her a look of mild terror.

“Merlin Granger, you’re supposed to be asleep,” he whispered, leaning toward her.

“I was before someone decided to come stomping through the ward,” she said in a much more normal volume.

“Shh, Pomfrey will hear you” the blond looked around a bit frantically as if he expected the healer to pop out from behind one of the curtains to tell him off.

Hermione waved him off feebly as she put her wand back. “She already knows you’re here. Anyone who comes in trips her wards. We spent a lot of time when we were younger thinking we were sneaking around when we came to see Harry, but she always knew.”

Malfoy sat back with an almost disappointed look.

“What are you doing here Draco?” she asked, the ache in her back becoming more apparent now that she wasn’t distracted by potential attackers.

The Slytherin looked uncomfortable, shifting around in his seat as he refused to meet her eyes.

“I just wanted to… You looked really bad, alright?” he finally got out, his tone defensive.

Hermione felt a small smile tugging at the edges of her mouth. “Malfoy, don’t tell me you snuck up here from the dungeon to check on me?” Her voice had taken on a teasing edge as she tried to catch his eye.

He huffed and jerked to his feet stiffly, not answering. Hermione immediately regretted her tone and reached for him as he started to leave. Her thin fingers caught his wrist, her grip weak. He stopped but stayed turned toward the doors.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t wasn’t trying to upset you. I’m glad you came, I’m just surprised is all” she said quietly, her hand slipping away as she lost her grip, her muscles not up to anything even that strenuous.

He twisted his arm slightly at the last instant, his warm palm catching her hand as it fell and cradling it carefully. He shifted over and sat on the side of the bed, his hip pressed up against her knee.

“How are you feeling?” he asked after a minute, her hand still caught in his, seemingly ignoring his discomfort from earlier.

Hermione couldn’t figure out if she was having trouble breathing because she was fairly certain her ribs had been broken recently or because she found herself the sudden recipient of Draco’s entire attention. She had the awful suspicion it might be the latter.

“Awful” she answered honestly, to shaken by his proximity to lie.

He grimaced slightly, looking her over closely. She wasn’t sure what she looked like, but from his expression, it couldn’t be good. She could feel spots of dried blood that the initial scourgify must have missed, and cleaning spells always had the unfortunate side effect of making her hair into an awful rats nest of tangles.

“I thought I was too late. I thought he’d killed you.” He said it so quietly that she almost missed it, the tips of his long fingers tracing delicate lines along her hand.

“But you weren’t. You saved me. At least I assume you did, I don’t remember much after you showed up” she said a bit wryly, her hand tightening around his. She didn’t know what had brought on his willingness to touch her but she couldn’t find it to pull away.

He sat silently staring down at the bruises that covered her arm, cut through with faint pink lines of recently healed slashes. It would take a few days before everything faded but it didn’t look like anything would scar. She hadn’t talked to Pomfrey yet, so she wasn’t sure about the bits she couldn’t see, but she knew the feeling of a curse scar. The burn from Dolohov’s curse had taken months to heal and eventually rose to the surface, leaving a twisted line of scar tissue across her ribs and side.

“I got some books,” he said abruptly, his silvery grey eyes light even in the dimness of the room.

She raised a brow in amusement at his sudden jump in subjects but settled herself more comfortably against her pillows, letting out a small hiss of pain when she twisted her back further than intended.

Draco’s head jerked up as the sound and he moved forward, carefully sliding his arm behind her shoulders and helping to prop her pillows up before resuming his place by her knee. She gently pushed her hand back into his, making the corners of his lips turn up slightly.

“What sort of books?” she asked, smiling sleepily at him.

“Science books.”

All traces of tiredness fled at those two small words, the muscles in her stomach tensing.

“Muggle science books?” she asked hesitantly.

She got a rather long suffering look for her question “Yes Granger, muggle science books. I hardly think a wizard could manage to write something like that.”

“And what did you think?” Hermione could feel her heart racing and didn’t bother to question why it was suddenly so important that he be interested in this, in a world he had been raised to loathe.

“They were fascinating” an almost childlike wonder traced its way over his face, making him look younger and almost heartbreakingly innocent. “Do you know about physics? Or muggle astronomy?”

Hermione couldn’t stop the smile the was stretching her mouth, even though it pulled painfully on her recently healed split lip. “Yes, I know about physics and astronomy. Did you get a chance to read about cosmology?”

He shook his head as he leaned forward eagerly, the same desire to _know_ lighting his eyes as she had seen so many times in the mirror. She scooted over a little and tentatively patted the open spot beside her. He hesitated before crawling up and tucking himself into her side like he had so many times before under the safety of the invisibility cloak.

She settled in, leaning comfortably against the side of a man who was supposed to hate her, starlight dancing over the dark ward, and told him how the universe was born.

* * *

Harry managed to get Severus up and around fairly quickly Saturday morning, his anxiety to see Hermione translating to the other man. Harry had stopped in briefly the night before and left her wand for her but Madam Pomfrey had dosed her heavily with sleeping potions.

They got to the hospital wing before breakfast, slipping quietly into the still ward. Harry found Ron seated at the side of Hermione’s bed, a cup of tea in hand and an exhausted look on his face.

“Hey,” the redhead said softly, his face tight. Harry nodded in response, his eyes fixed on the yellow-green bruises on Hermione’s face.

She looked tiny under the sea of light blue blankets and was tucked over to one side like someone had slept next to her.

“Did you stay over with her?” Harry asked quietly. It wasn’t unusual for one of them to stay overnight in the hospital wing with whoever was hurt. Harry had woken with one or both of them asleep in a nearby chair or on the bed on more than one occasion.

Ron shook his head, looking confused.

The slide of curtains brought both of them around and dragged a small sound of protest from the bed. Madam Pomfrey walked briskly in, a small tray with bottles of potions floating behind her.

“Up for a moment Ms. Granger. I need to know how you’re feeling and get a few of these down you” the healer said as she shooed Harry and Severus to the side so she could approach her patient.

Hermione groaned in response and winced as she pulled herself up. Ron reached down and carefully steadied her as she got her pillows rearranged. Upright she looked almost as bad as she had the night before, splotchy bruises all over her face, a thick pink line of healing tissue where a cutting hex had caught her face and the whole left side of her jaw was puffy and swollen.

She smiled a bit painfully at the group gathered around her, waving the healer forward and reaching eagerly for the pain potion that was offered first.

A few minutes and several potions later and she had started to relax, some of the tension leaking out of her battered frame.

“How bad?” she rasped, the scratch of her voice making Harry snatch a cup of water from the nearby table for her.

“Dislocated shoulder, broken rib, broken clavicle, three cracked vertebrae, cerebral edema and a fair amount of nasty cuts and bruises. I think you’ve got Mr. Potter trounced for the year” the medi witch joked as she ran her wand over her patient.

She turned a narrow eyed look on Harry “That is not a challenge Mr. Potter” she said crisply.

The older witch’s eyes softened at the rather unsettled look Hermione was giving her. “You’ll be fine dear, just a few more days here and nothing very active for a week or so and you’ll be good as new. Mr. Malfoy got you to me before any real damage could set in.”

Ron made a somewhat disgruntled sound but just fussed with his shirt when both Harry and Hermione glared at him.

“Alright ‘Mione, you need anything? What books do you want me to bring?” Harry broke the silence, knowing that his friend would last all of a few hours before she got bored of the hospital wing.

“My bag and the books on my bedside table please” she shot Harry a quick smile. “Also I won’t be able to make my visit today. Everything I was going to take is in my spare shoulder bag in my trunk. Harry you know the password.”

Harry nodded, having completely forgotten about Narcissa. He shot a look at Severus, wondering if he could convince the man to go with him. He’d been restricted from the small cottage ever since she had refused to remove Severus’ vow and he’d thrown a bit of a strop.

The taller man was giving him a look that didn’t leave much room to doubt that he would not be allowed to carry out any of his threats.

“Perhaps it would be possible for Draco to see her? It would go a long way toward calming both of them” Severus broke in, a thoughtful look on his face.

Harry raised a brow, waiting for him to carry on.

“Ms. Granger, who do you suppose the school is going to assume is responsible for your current state?” Snape asked.

“Malfoy,” she said without any hesitation. They’d had so many organized run ins with the Slytherin this year that anytime any of them had even the smallest injury it was assumed they’d hexed each other.

Severus turned to Harry and Ron “And if Draco had truly done this, what would you do?”

Ron’s face cleared, a look of glee coming over it. Harry just snorted in amusement but nodded at Severus.

“Well then, I suppose we had better go put Malfoy up here with you,” he said to Hermione, turning toward the door.

“Be nice!” the younger witch yelled at them as they left, her voice trailing them down the hall.

* * *

Draco had gotten back to his dorm just before sunrise, crawling into his bed without bothering to put on his pyjamas, his shoulder, and neck sore from holding himself carefully on his side so he wouldn’t bump Hermione. He’d snuck out of the hospital wing after she’d fallen asleep and disillusioned himself to get through the castle.

He managed a few hours of sleep before the yelling and bustle of his dorm mates woke him and he trudged through his daily grooming before sleepily making his way to the Great Hall. Halfway up the stairs from the dungeons a hand latched onto his arm, long scarlet tinted nails cutting into his bicep.

Draco jerked away before he realised who had hold of him, and when he saw Pansy he shifted further. He knew he shouldn’t have let her around him the last few days, but he’d not had the energy to tell her to shove off.

“Draco, love, what’s wrong?” she whinged, her mouth curled into a small pout that didn’t do any favors for her already scrunched features.

“I hardly think there needs to be something wrong for me to not want to be groped Parkinson,” he said more sharply than he intended. Pansy had been his friend for years, but since they came back for sixth year she had been relentless in her pursuit of him. It wouldn’t do to tell her he had no plans to marry her, so he’d had to grit his teeth and put up with her painfully obvious passes at him.

She gave him what he was sure she thought was a sultry look but just made her look a bit vapid “The wasn’t groping. I’d be more than happy to show you the difference.”

Draco barely contained the shudder that crawled up his spine at her words. He’d rather be propositioned by Weasley or even Granger… A small shiver that had nothing to do with revulsion slipped through him at the impossible thought of those words uttered in Granger’s soft voice.

The thought was so distracting that it took him a moment to realise that Pansy’s tone had changed and she was no longer speaking to him.

“What the hell do you want Potter?” she snapped, looking up the stairwell to where Potter and Weasley were standing, wands drawn at their sides.

“This doesn’t concern you, Parkinson. I suggest you find somewhere else to be” Harry said, his voice hard.

Draco felt a small thrill of fear before he crushed it. They weren’t enemies anymore, if Potter was starting something with him it was for a reason.

“I know what you did Malfoy. I don’t care if you fucked with her memory, I know it was you” Harry snarled at him.

So he was getting credit for that. Alright, this was retribution then. He wished they’d have given him a bit more time to prepare.

“I’ve no idea what you’re on about Potter” he responded, allowing just enough smugness into his voice to leave no doubt that he’d done whatever he was being accused of.

Draco’s eyes were locked on Potter, waiting for the first signal on how this was going to play out, so he completely missed Weasley’s curse until it was on him. He had a brief flash of confusion before sharp blue light, the same colour as a bone breaking curse, flared around him.

He braced, waiting for the pain, and felt only a small tingle across his upper arm. Somehow Weasley had replicated the form of the curse without actually sending along the unfortunate part. He hesitated only a second before he shrieked and clutched his arm as if it had broken, dropping his wand to the ground.

The next few minutes were a riot of harmless flashing lights and Parkinson screaming before Severus showed up and ‘broke up’ the fight. Draco let himself flop dramatically onto the floor, only a few tender spots where he hadn’t managed to dodge fast enough.

He was floated up to the hospital wing and placed in the bed beside Granger, who snorted a laugh at him when he let his limbs fall over the edge of the mattress in a helpless sprawl.

“There’s no one else here Malfoy, you can get up” she murmured.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about Granger. Your guard dogs have killed me” he muttered into a pillow.

The solid thwap of a pillow connecting with the back of his head brought him upright to glare at the small witch beside him. She grinned, looking much better than she had even a few hours ago.

“What’s this all about then? I’ve not even managed to get breakfast” he asked, eyeing the Gryffindors around him.

“Well, I’m restricted until I’m a bit more patched up, so Snape thought you might like to go see your Mum,” Hermione said with a small smile. He felt his breath catch in his throat at the thought, turning to see the small smile on his godfather's face.

“Far as anyone knows you’re here till tomorrow. Pomfrey is going to lock down the quarantine room and tell people that I hit you with a pox” Potter supplied with an oddly pleased look.

Draco just stared blankly around the room before stuttering a small ‘thank you’, not able to believe that he would get to see Mother for the first time in months.

“I’ve got the bag ready, and we can cover for you until probably early tomorrow,” Hermione said, motioning to a familiar backpack sitting on the bottom of her bed.

Harry stepped forward and held out his softly shimmering cloak and a crushed soda can. “Get out past the wards before you try to use this. Key word is on the bottom.”

Draco took both carefully, turning the can to see _’sea’_ written across the bottom in muggle marker in what looked suspiciously like his Mother’s handwriting.

“Thank you” he muttered again as he slung the pack over his shoulder and wrapped the cloak around himself.

He left the hospital wing in a daze, dodging students and managing to sneak out the front doors just as Hagrid was coming in.

He made it to the forest without any problem, and before he knew it the sharp tug of a portkey was hooking around his navel and dragging him away.

Cold salt tinged air slapped his face as he landed, stumbling a little along a thin rocky path. It wound around in an absent sort of way to a small white gate, which sat in front of a tangled garden. The cozy cottage behind it was the last place he would have imagined his Mother ever living, which was perhaps a brilliant choice on the part of the Order.

He hurried up the path and to the dusty red front door, admiring the open sprawl of cliffs dropping into the ocean as he rapped quickly on the door.

It swung open a moment later, his mother standing there with a sharply disapproving look on her face that melted into shock as she took him in.

“Draco?” she breathed, reaching to pull him to her. He let himself fall into her embrace for just a moment, not having thought he would have this until well after the war was over.

“Hello Mother,” he said softly, his arms looped carefully around her tall willowy frame.

She pulled back and patted his face gently before leading him inside and fussing over him as she settled him into a small front room. The warmth of the fire and shelves of books, paired with the low soft chairs reminded him sharply of Granger and he found himself briefly wondering if she had decorated this place.

His mother came back in a moment later, a tea tray with his favorite biscuits piled high floating in front of her.

“What are you doing here dear? Did something happen?” she asked.

He didn’t miss the almost hopeful tone in her voice, knowing she would have brought him with her if she could.

“Hermione got hurt, she couldn’t come so Potter and Severus worked it out so I could come see you this one time” he explained, looking her over. She looked much better than when had seen her last in the Manor. She was back to a healthy weight and the dark circles that had hung under her eyes were gone. Her hair was much shorter than he’d ever seen it, but that wasn’t surprising given what he knew of Hermione’s plan, and it suited her.

His mother was going him an odd look “I’m sorry to hear that Ms. Granger was injured. Please send her my regards for a fast recovery” she said, her voice the blank politeness that he’d grown up hearing.

Draco frowned slightly at her, not liking the way she spoke but not having anything to truly call out.

“Of course Mother. I’ve brought you some things.” Here he began emptying the bag, bringing out a shrunken box of foodstuffs and sending it along to the kitchen, followed by a small stack of books he recognized from one of her favorite authors. He blinked a bit at those, wondering why Granger would have bothered to pick up books for his mother.

At the bottom was the letter he had intended to send to her along with a box of tea he had left for Granger to take.

A slightly battered letter that looked as though it had been in the bag for a while caught his attention. As he pulled it out he noticed that it had been opened and it had his mother’s name on the front in unfamiliar handwriting.

She glanced at it, her eyes going a bit cold.

“Draco I don’t care what they told you, I’m not releasing the vow. You can take that back to Dumbledore, just like I told the Granger girl to” she said, dismissing the letter in favor of looking over the stacks of books he’d handed her.

Draco stared at the letter in confusion before carefully pulling it open and reading quickly through it.

He could feel his fingers tightening on the paper, the edges of the letter crumpling under his grip the further he got through it.

“You made Severus make an unbreakable vow?” he whispered, anger choking him.

His mother looked at him sharply, her eyes hard. “Your Aunt Bella forced the issue, but I accepted it. You should be grateful, she did it to make sure that you would be kept safe.”

He sat quietly seething, so angry that he wasn’t sure where he needed to start. He could almost feel the icy cut of her knife into his back, could almost hear her enraged scream as she murdered the muggle woman as he watched.

“To keep me safe? Do you think your bitch of a sister did something to keep me safe? She would never do anything that wasn’t in direct service of the monster she follows around like a lovesick puppy” he hissed, making her drawback in alarm.

“Draco, watch your tone! Bella is not well but she is family and you will treat her as such” her voice was filled with censure, making him feel like he was five again and had forgotten to bow to the minister.

“Oh just as she treated me Mother?” he knew he was being cruel but he couldn’t stop himself. She’d threatened one of the few people in the world that loved him and didn’t seem at all bothered that Severus could die.

He stood, jerking his robes off and yanking his shirt over his head before he twisted, showing her the deep lines of scar tissue that had been carved across his shoulders and down his spine by his aunts cursed blade.

“Is this what family is to you then?” he yelled, hearing the sharp gasp of her breath.

Cold, shaking fingers touched his back, making him hiss and jerk away.

He turned to find his mother staring at him with horror, tears falling from her ice blue eyes.

“Severus is my family Mother, not your sister, and if you care for me you’ll release him from his vow,” Draco said, voice cold.

His mother got to her feet, her hand clapped over her mouth, and spun around to flee upstairs, He could hear her rapid footsteps and winced at the slam of a bedroom door.

Draco paced across the rug strewn floor, his fingers shaking as he buttoned his shirt back up. He’d never intended to let her see his scars. He knew she would blame herself and it was the last thing he wanted, but if it would convince her to let Severus free he would shove his suffering in her face as many times as he had to.

He finally settled, watching the slate coloured waves move across the surface of the sea through the huge windows. He lost track of time, the grey skies slowly dimming, throwing shadows across the room. He hadn’t heard anything from upstairs and he was tired.

He was tired of pandering to his Mother’s moods, to her expectations that he would be just like his father, would do just as she had and follow the path she laid out for him like a good pureblood son. He was just tired.

Without another word Draco slung the invisibility cloak over his shoulders and picked up Hermione’s bag, leaving Dumbledore’s letter on the table. He paused for just an instant, his hand on the doorknob as he hesitated. Eventually, he sighed before sweeping out into the clean salty air and back to Hogwarts.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright everyone, next chapter is going to be a bit longer and likely take longer to post. I've decided to split this into two fics, right along the 6th and 7th year books, so the next chapter is the last for this one. I'll be starting the next one immediately, I'm really only splitting them up to make myself feel better about the word count. Once again, thank you to everyone who has bothered to not only read this ridiculously long thing but to keep reading it. I'm astounded there are so many of you.

_Can you lie next to her_   
_And give her your heart, your heart_   
_As well as your body_   
_And can you lie next to her_   
_And confess your love, your love_   
_As well as your folly_

Mumford and Sons, White Blank Page

It was a few hours before Severus was able to pry Harry away from the hospital wing and only after repeated assurances that Madam Pomfrey would contact them if anything changed. In the end, it had taken Granger threatening him to get him to agree to leave her. Weasley had been just as set on staying and had been kicked out with them, much to his displeasure.

Harry was jumpy all through lunch and couldn’t sit still when the got back to their rooms, getting up from the couch to pace before settling back down with an apologetic grimace. Instead of working on the essays that Severus knew he had, he spent several hours in the back corner of the sitting room, working on some new spell that he wouldn’t tell Severus about but that was giving him fits. After the third time that Severus’ teacup fell off the coffee table from the shaking of the room he quietly started packing his grading away.

“Come on Potter, you’re not fit company,” Severus said, swinging his robes on.

“What? No, I’m in the middle of this…” Harry trailed off at the look of barely concealed impatience on Severus’ face. “Fine” he huffed.

Harry reluctantly trailed Severus through the quiet castle and up to the room of requirement, shucking his robes on the hook the room thoughtfully supplied as they entered.

“Can we please not... well... dance right now?” Harry had a peculiar note of almost desperation in his voice, his hands twitching slightly and his eyes sliding away to the floor.

“I think it’s safe to start pre-combat training” Severus responded, curious. Harry had been shying away from being too close to him lately and he wasn’t sure what had set the man off. Whatever it was had caused an uptick in his use of profanity, which Severus privately found rather amusing.

Some of the tension that had been in Harry’s shoulders slid away, leaving him looking tired but much more like himself.

“How do we do this then?” he asked, green eyes flicking over the dummies on the edges of the room as his fingers tugged on the hem of his shirt. His soft black t-shirt fit him well but he had already managed to put a small hole in the bottom of it and his fitted jeans had a long black stain on the thigh from spilling silver nitrate on himself when he was helping Severus in the lab. The dark shadow of stubble lined his jaw from where he had forgotten to shave in his rush to see Granger.

“Come here,” Severus said, his voice softer and more intimate than he had intended, finding Harry’s inherent scruffiness oddly endearing.

Harry sucked in a near silent breath but moved closer, an almost pained look on his face.

“The goal is not to touch each other. You should know where I am and how I’m going to move just by the press of my magic, even in the middle of a battle” Severus instructed.

Harry scowled at the floor, clearly thinking.

“Alright, so what, we just move around and try not to run into each other?” he looked a bit skeptical as he pushed his wand back into its holster.

“In a sense. Tell me, can you feel my magic? It won’t be as simple as finding Granger’s or Weasley’s because I have mine more tightly contained, but you should still be able to feel it” Severus asked.

Harry closed his eyes and reached out, palm flat toward Severus. His fingers spread wide, hoving just over the row of buttons on his robes, feeling for power, for something.

Harry’s brows drew down, a frown wrinkling the smooth skin of his forehead and giving Severus a small glimpse of what he would look like as he gained the lines of age, delicate creases etched around his eyes just as deeply as the laugh lines he was sure to have.

The younger face suddenly cleared, the lines smoothing out as he ran his hand along what looked like an invisible shell over Severus’ chest.

“I can feel something. It’s like it’s always been there, I just never really noticed it.” Green eyes flew open, a pleased smile taking over his wide mouth. “It feels.. spiky. But warm.”

Severus felt the corner of his mouth quirk at Harry’s particular description of his magic.

“Don’t you need to..” Harry trailed off, motioning to his chest in explanation.

“Hardly Potter. I can tell where your magic is halfway across the Great Hall” Severus said, backing up a few steps.

Harry’s magic was everywhere, constantly. Severus had learned the feel of it as a gradient instead of an edge like everyone else’s, and when Harry was upset or tired, he sometimes felt like he could get lost in it, could drown in it.

“Alright, close your eyes” Harry gave him a lightly suspicious look but let his eyes fall shut.

“Sight will distract you, you’ll do what we have been doing, which is tripping each other. Try instead to move when my magic pushes against yours” Severus explained.

Harry nodded and drew in a deep breath before he shook out his shoulders and planted his boots a bit more solidly. He looked like he was getting ready for battle and Severus let loose the small grin he had been fighting.

Slowly the taller man brought his hand up to hover in front of Harry’s shoulder, waiting for him to move away. The younger man’s face was scrunched in concentration, his breath quick but nearly silent as he listened as much as felt. Severus fought the desire to smooth the lines of concentration out with a swipe of his thumb and watched as his hand landed lightly on Harry’s shoulder.

Green eyes popped open and looked at him with frustration.

“Try again,” he said, moving back a bit and waiting for Harry to close his eyes again.

This time his hand landed softly on Harry’s chest, just below the hollow of his throat. He could feel the rapid flutter of a heartbeat under his palm as he let his hand linger an instant longer than he should have.

Harry glared up at him and made a small noise of unhappiness before rolling his neck, trying to loosen the muscles in his shoulders. His eyes slid shut and he took a slow, deep breath, his messy hair falling over his forehead and obscuring his scar.

Severus reached forward again, long fingers splayed out. He was centimeters from his palm landing on the soft fabric of Harry’s t-shirt when he felt an odd lick of magic coil around his fingers and Harry shifted back.

More magic came toward him as he stepped forward, wrapping loose tendrils across his chest and skating over his arms. He’d never felt anything like it and he moved closer without thinking. Harry shifted back again, like they had a block between them, forcing the other man to move when he did. Severus frowned and stepped back, feeling Harry’s magic wrap across his back and pull gently.

Harry stepped forward with him, eyes still closed but a thrilled smile on his face as he moved.

“What are you doing Potter?” Snape finally broke. The warm blanket of Harry’s magic fell away as green eyes opened in startlement.

“What you told me to?” he asked, face puzzled.

“That was intended to be a passive exercise. What were you doing?” he asked again.

Harry gave him a bit of a wide eyed look before turning away and scuffing the toe of his boot on the marble floor. “Well, it was hard to know where you were. Your magic is so quiet and it stays so close to you, so I thought maybe if I reached out to you a bit it would make it easier” he mumbled.

“So what, you just pushed magic out till you found me?” Severus asked, his head spinning a bit.

He knew that if he tried very hard he might be able to replicate what Harry had done for a few moments. It was nearly impossible to break through the natural barrier that held unformed magic in, containing it close to a wizard's core. However, if someone had enough power they could push the barrier itself outward. Very few could manage it in any useful way because it wasn’t a learned ability. Practice and study would give little advantage with something that simply required enormous amounts of power. A barrier couldn’t be pushed if there as nothing to push it _with_.

Harry just shrugged at him, not understanding that he was using magic in ways that very few wizards could.

Severus just nodded a bit and motioned for Harry to shut his eyes again. It wouldn’t make anything easier to tell him and Snape knew how much Harry hated being different. He knew he was powerful, it was enough to perhaps leave this particular revelation alone.

After a few false starts, Harry got used to his newest trick and they moved with a surprising amount of grace through the room. Even when Severus shut his eyes he knew exactly where Harry was, the buzzing loops of his magic all around him.

“Why don’t we bring a few of the practice dummies out?” Severus asked after they’d finished a third round of the room.

Harry shot him a quick smile as dummies zipped over, cleaned and repaired as they always were. Severus felt Harry’s magic wrap securely around him, making a slow shiver slide up his spine. It was intimate in a way that Severus couldn’t describe but was like nothing he had ever felt. It made him feel powerful and safe all at once, cocooned in the warmth of Harry’s magic.

The first stunner was easily deflected, the second catching just the edge of Severus’ robes as Harry struggled to get a shield up while making his magic move in such an unfamiliar way.

They fell into a pattern easily enough, but by the end of the first round, Harry was panting heavily and soaked in sweat, enough so that Severus decided to stop early.

“It’s like juggling” he got out as Severus sent the dummies speeding back toward the walls. Harry was doubled over and speaking to his knees as he tried to regain his breath. “But with Mandrakes” he finished ruefully.

The younger man flashed him a tired smile when he finally straightened “But it worked. I think I just need practice.”

“We will find a way for you to work on it without having to come up here, and perhaps a way to approach it without your typical bash it to death method ” Severus responded as he led the way out of the room and back toward the dungeons, not missing the slightly offended look his comment garnered.

It was late enough that they had missed dinner and the castle was loud with sudden bursts of talk and laughter as they passed groups of students roaming the halls to visit with friends before curfew.

They asked Tippy for dinner before cleaning up quickly and settling in the front room with their meals. Harry was halfway through his huge serving of Shepherd's Pie when he glanced up and watched Severus push his meal to the side, only a small bit taken from it. Severus glared sharply at him, making the younger man shut his mouth with a hard snap.

Severus suspected he wouldn’t be able to avoid the conversation forever, but he’d managed to put it off for months and found himself hoping that perhaps Harry would just drop it. He should have known better.

Harry didn’t speak again until they had climbed into bed and Severus was relaxed enough to feel like he might drop off to sleep, so the voice from less than a pillow length away startled him.

“I know it’s not something you talk about, but could you tell me? I’m worried” Harry said quietly.

There was a long pause as Severus considered his options and came up with nothing favorable.

“I would very much prefer not to,” he said, his voice tired but sharp.

Harry sighed softly and shifted a bit closer, the silence telling in its own way. Severus wasn’t sure when it had happened, but he could tell now when Harry was carefully thinking through how he wished to approach a problem. It lent his silences a slow sort of gravity.

“You know how ‘Mione and Ron don’t let anyone touch anything on my plate?” Harry finally spoke, the change in subject strange enough that he turned fully toward the other man.

He had noticed on more than one occasion one of them fending someone off from Harry’s food. The scene from months ago at the Order meeting came back to him, Granger slamming her fork into the hand of one of the twins in an almost absentminded manner.

“Yes” he said simply, a twist in his stomach making him certain that he was not going to like where this was heading.

“You asked me, a while ago, what had happened to me at the Dursleys,” Harry said quietly, the dim light showing the glimmer of his eyes, focused on the ceiling.

Complete certainty that he never wanted to hear whatever Harry was about to tell him warred with the need to know, to avoid tripping in any of the emotional sinkholes that he knew were there, everything tangling around and coming out as a small grunt of agreement.

“If I didn’t behave the way they wanted or forgot a chore, or if Vernon was in a poor mood, they wouldn’t feed me. I used to sneak out of my cupboard and try to find food, but they locked the refrigerator at night.” Harry swallowed heavily, not looking at Severus.

“Even when I was allowed to eat it was never enough. The first night I came to Hogwarts I ate so much I threw up and was sick for days. I don’t like people taking my food, it makes me feel I’ve done something wrong. Ron and Mione know and they’re worse about keeping food on my plate than I am” he said the last with a self-deprecating smile, trying to make light of the terrible thing he was sharing.

Severus felt his breath seeping out of him, shock banding strips of icy steel over his chest and closing tight. His brain latched onto the small detail that Harry had tried to skip over.

“Cupboard?” he choked out.

A softly resigned sigh came from the darkness beside him.

“Until I got my Hogwarts letter I lived in the cupboard under the stairs. They gave me Dudley’s second bedroom after they realised that people knew where they were keeping me” Harry explained, his voice low. “Hogwarts letter you know? One Harry Potter, Cupboard Under the Stairs and all that.”

Severus felt like a hole had been punched in his chest and his lungs were trying to fill around it but had nothing to brace against. He reached out blindly but pulled his shaking hand back at the last instant, not certain of his welcome, no matter that his hands ached to feel the solid figure of a man, to banish the memory of the painfully thin boy who had walked on shaking legs to put on a sorting hat so long ago.

Harry made a small sound, catching the aborted move and rolled carefully closer, allowing Severus to curl around him and spread warm hands over the solid muscles of his back.

“Did you ever speak with the Headmaster?” he asked quietly as he tucked his chin over the top of the unruly mop of hair, not bothering to move when it tickled lightly along his jaw.

Harry just shook his head. “I asked to stay here over the summer, but Dumbledore told me I needed to spend time inside the blood wards.”

“Hogwarts was just as safe. There was no reason to send you back to those people” his voice was hard and rolling with anger now and he started to move before he thought about it, to go to the Headmaster and demand an explanation for why Harry had been left somewhere to be abused and starved.

Arms tightened around his waist and held him close, not letting him escape the bed.

He huffed sharply but tamped down hard on his anger, making himself settle. He could not bring himself to make Harry let go of him, not now, not after this. He would speak to Albus later, when the tide of the man’s misdeeds swallowing every part of his life didn’t make him feel so desperate.

“It’s alright, I don’t have to see them any longer. And once I made friends it was better, much better. The twins broke me out and abducted me once” Harry said, laughter at the memory in his voice. “Flew that car you gave me so many detentions for all the way to Surrey.”

A certain amount of warmth toward the Weasley twins took root, something that he was sure he would never admit to, even as the pain in his chest slowly grew, pushing on his lungs, driving a sharp spike into his side as if he had been running again like he had when Harry’s panic over Granger had beat like waves against him.

“My father used to poison me” Severus broke in sharply, willing to give Harry whatever he wanted, even this horrible part of himself, if it would just make him stop talking like having to be rescued from his relatives was normal, was _forgivable_.

A sharp breath was his only response, the younger man going rigid in his arms.

“He would get drunk and add things to my food. Sometimes it would just be something that made it taste awful but was harmless. But sometimes, when he was mad at my Mum, he would put chemicals or ground up glass in” Severus swallowed heavily, the terror he felt whenever he was called into eat ghosting over him.

“It was the only time my Mum ever used magic, when I needed to go to Emergency or I would have died. He let her have her wand then.” Harry was stroking small shaky circles on his back, his breath washing fast and tight against Severus’ chest.

“After I started serving the Dark Lord he would sometimes test me with food or drinks. His theory was that if I was a good enough potions master I would identify and neutralize any poison, and if I died then I did not deserve to serve as a Death Eater anyway.” Severus could feel how stiff his shoulders were and he knew he was digging his fingertips into Harry’s back, but the other man didn’t complain, his own hands leaving the ghost of bruises in his clumsy attempts at comfort.

“It was never a choice not to eat, with either of them.”

“Food that is easier to mix something into or hide something in is the hardest for me to eat. Those were always the things that were the most dangerous growing up.” Severus could feel his breath coming in sharp jerks. He could almost taste the sour fear mixed with the dusty mildew scent of the kitchen at Spinners End.

Strong fingers were suddenly carding through his hair, the slight pull dragging him back to the warmth of his bed. Harry had pulled back and was watching him with sharp, angry eyes, his hands nothing but gentle. They lay silently for a long time, letting their heartbeats slow, letting the anger and tension seep away from stiff muscles.

“I’m glad you told me,” Harry said, his voice quiet and tight. Severus just nodded numbly, feeling raw and scraped out.

They lapsed into silence, finding themselves once again lancing open the painful wounds of their pasts and baring the jagged cuts for the other to see.

He could feel sleep pulling at him, and knew that nightmares lurked within it, but for once didn’t try to avoid it. Harry had proven himself to be adept at nightmare hunting over the last few months, sitting up with Severus and talking about any inane thing that came into his head when the older man woke both of them with his silent thrashing. He knew more about Quidditch statistics then he ever could have imagined he would, but he also slept more than he had in years.

Just as he was drifting off he swore he heard a whisper slip through the heavy darkness.

“It’s alright love. We’ll be alright.”

* * *

It took Hermione four days before Madam Pomfrey agreed to release her back to her dorm and classes. By the time she got free of the hospital wing she was ready to stage a revolt and had a much better understanding of why Harry so often snuck out before he was supposed to.

She also had a mostly complete plan for getting the memory from Slughorn, having invested an uncomfortable amount of her otherwise unoccupied time in research, aided by a certain snippy blond.

Draco had shown up after curfew every night she was in the hospital wing, eventually wandering his way in as if it wasn’t at all strange he was coming to visit her and starting up a full description of his day or a series of odd questions as if they’d had only a brief break in their conversation.

She found herself looking forward to those visits more and more. She loved Harry and Ron dearly and even found Snape to be fairly good company once she accepted his tendency to scowl heavily at everyone, but there was something about talking to someone that had so many of her same interests that was unique.

She’d found herself arguing theories, both magic, and muggle, more in the last week than she could remember doing in her life. Draco had taken to muggle science and literature with almost terrifying speed, his questions quickly reaching the point where she had to find further reading to keep up with him.

He always stayed until after she had fallen asleep and she had gotten used to waking up pushed to one side of the bed, the pillow smelling faintly of his expensive cologne and a ridiculous smile on her face.

Hermione was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them and neither was oblivious. She knew logically that she was setting herself up for a not insignificant amount of heartbreak in the near future, but she couldn’t seem to stop the giddy feeling she got when she heard the distinctive sound of his boots coming through the door.

She had also, rather practically, tested herself for any love or coercion spells. She had been very briefly convinced that something was deeply wrong the first morning she woke and caught herself rolling onto his pillow to breathe in the warm scent of him.

Her logical mind had supplied all the reasons why it made sense, his turn about, his intelligence, his cutting humor and the delicate streaks of pain he let her see, but it had still resulted in several days of a small voice in her mind shrieking in disbelief about purebloods and Draco Malfoy of all people.

Objectively Draco had always been an attractive man, particularly after he’d grown into the sharp lines of his face and looked refined rather than pointy, but his personality had soured it. The changes that the last year had put him through had been harsh and painful, and he wore that in the serious set of his mouth and the occasional closed look in his eyes, but it had also made him see.

It had started to peel away the wrapping his parents had put around him and left behind someone that was still arrogant, still a bit pretentious and who would always need more than a little bit of attention, but also someone thoughtful and brave who was learning the value of standing for something larger than himself even if it scared the hell out of him.

He was finally seeing muggles and muggleborns as possibly worthy of respect and she knew that she was just a by-product of that, that his interest would wane once he satisfied his curiosity. She couldn’t bring herself to care though, because Merlin help her, she actually _liked_ him. She liked his company and his vicious sense of humor, his absurd dramatics and the way his eyes lit the most beautiful silver when he was excited or mad.

Somewhere in their nightly talks, they had come up with a plan for Slughorn. Draco had procured a mid-priced watch, nice but not so nice as to be suspicious as a gift for a favored teacher. They had spent her last night in the ward lacing careful truth charms into it, winding them around the delicate gears to allow the timepiece to supply the power for them, making them workably undetectable.

They had both fallen asleep during a small disagreement about whether or not time itself would be able to power the spell instead of a simple winding charm and how detrimental that would be if it went wrong. It was rather suddenly morning and Madam Pomfrey had to wake Draco and send him on his way with a knowing look.

The thought of him not sneaking his way in to see her made her briefly consider the merits of asking for one more night in the hospital wing, but she discarded the idea as Ron came in, a smile across his face and a bag of normal clothes in his hand.

She was dressed and at breakfast before she knew it, sitting carefully between Ron and Seamus, trying not to jar her still tender back. She was feeling mostly alright but the healer had told her to expect some residual pain and headaches for the first week or so.

Her injury had done one other good thing and made Ron and Harry start speaking to each other again. From what Harry had told her, Ron had apologized and even managed to choke out what Harry later described as the most painful approval he’d ever heard, so she wasn’t sure why Harry was at the high table with Snape, but since he shot her a smile and a jaunty wave she filed it to check with him later.

Hermione smiled a bit, listening to the chatter of her housemates and realising that she had missed it.

She reached carefully across the table for a croissant, the strain on her back making her grimace a little. Ron noticed and she soon fell into pointing at platters, only for one her surrounding housemates to fetch it to her plate for her. She gave them all grateful smiles as she settled into her breakfast.

Draco had come in a few minutes before, his robes as neat and carefully pressed as ever, even if his hair was a bit mussed, not having had his normal amount of time to get ready. Hermione had fought to keep her eyes on her housemates, the drone of Dean’s voice as he spoke with Ron about something the Cannons had done not helping to keep her attention away from where it wanted to drift.

A small commotion near the Slytherin table dragged her eyes up from the strawberry she was dissecting, unerringly finding him where he’d sat, several tables away but directly across from her. He had started his breakfast but seemed to have gained Parkinson’s ire. Her voice was steadily rising, her face screwed up in anger as she gestured sharply around the room. Draco was slowly turning a delicate pink as she berated him, staring steadily down at his plate as he tried to ignore her.

Silver grey eyes darted up once and met hers across the room. She knew she looked angry, and she couldn’t stop herself from flicking a hard glare toward the Slytherin girl as her fingers traced over her wand, not liking the way he was hunched defensively. The embarrassed grimace of Draco’s face cleared and his eyes narrowed as he straightened up and turned toward Pansy, the cool sneering mask of the Malfoy heir falling over his features.

“And what exactly is it that has you in such a state Parkinson?” he drawled loudly enough to be heard at the Hufflepuff table.

A slow flush crept up Pansy’s neck and into her cheeks as every eye in the Great Hall turned toward her.

Hermione saw the instant she decided to drag the issue out in front of the entire school, her eyes going small and mean.

“My problem, Draco, is that my boyfriend has been sneaking out of the dorm and spending the night with some whore,” she said, her voice strident and angry, causing a unified gasp of shock from the surrounding students.

Hermione felt an icy ball settle into her stomach. Well, that small bit of heartbreak happened much faster than she had anticipated. She hadn’t even considered that he was involved with someone. Of course, he was, he was likely betrothed to her. Purebloods, particularly of Malfoy’s lineage, would never leave something like that to chance.

She wasn’t even sure why she was letting herself be upset about it. She could acknowledge the insanity of suddenly finding herself fancying Malfoy, but it wasn’t as if she had ever really considered that he could be anything more than a strange and clandestine friend.

His eyes caught hers across the room and he gave just the barest shake of his head, making an embarrassing amount of relief crash through her. She knew it was stupid, but imagining him staying up all night, curled up and arguing with anyone that wasn’t her made her heart pound painfully. She didn’t let herself stop to consider why his first thought after Pansy’s accusation would be to reassure her. Down that road lay madness.

“That sounds absolutely scandalous my dear. I say you leave him, whoever he is” Draco waved his hand flippantly before turning his attention back to his breakfast.

Parkinson stood over him, rage and humiliation writ large on her face. Hermione had a brief moment where she almost felt bad for the other girl, but it withered away more quickly than it probably should have.

“You can be as much of an arse as you like Draco, but whoever your little whore is she should know that I don’t share and when I find her she’ll regret ever thinking about touching you” Parkinson snapped, her hand coming down to fist into his robes and shake him lightly.

All humor fled from Draco’s face as he stood slowly and turned cold eyes on the other Slytherin, bringing the already quiet hall to a deafening silence.

“I see we have a few mistakes to straighten out” he began, his voice sliding like smooth silk with his upper class accent. “First off Parkinson, no matter how much you wish it were so, we aren’t dating, we’ve never dated and we will never date. I am not your boyfriend, your property or even your friend at this point.”

He was advancing slowly as she backed away from him, his shoulders straight and arms tucked neatly across his lower back, a sign of complete disregard in old wizarding society. Keeping his wand hand pulled away during a confrontation showed that he considered her so small a threat that he didn’t need to defend himself.

Beside her, Ron whistled softly and exchanged looks with Neville at the insult. Harry just looked confused at the high table but seemed to have a death grip on Snape who was hissing something at him as he unobtrusively tried to pry himself free.

Draco spoke again, his cultured voice echoing over the silent hall, all of the students frozen gleefully at the drama.

“How I spend my evenings is of no concern of yours, is that clear Parkinson?” He had backed her up to the end of the Slytherin table before he finally stopped, his tall frame towering over the girl.

Parkinson looked at him with no small amount of hatred, her cheeks flushed and eyes shimmering with tears before she nodded and spun, stalking out of the hall with stilted strides.

Whispers broke out throughout the hall as Draco calmly seated himself back at his table.

“Who do you think it is?” Lavender asked from where she was crammed between Parvati and Padma, who had joined her sister for breakfast.

“I bet it’s Greengrass. I heard that his Father had been negotiating a betrothal before he went to Azkaban” Padma responded, her head twisted around to stare at the object of their gossip.

Parvati made a small noise of disagreement. “If it was Greengrass he wouldn’t hide it, he’d be openly courting her. They’re purebloods and it would be an approved match. I bet it’s someone from another house, maybe even with a muggle somewhere a few generations back.” Noises of disbelief came from everyone at the table.

Hermione snagged her teacup and took several large scalding swallows to drown the giggle trying to work its way up her throat. She knew exactly who he had been spending the night with, even if it wasn’t what Parkinson had implied.

Her attention was brought away from her classmates increasingly wilder guesses -Susan Bones, really?- when Harry came to a halt next to her, Snape a few steps behind and staring at him with a slightly disgruntled air.

Suspicion was camped firmly on Harry’s face as his green eyes darted between her and Malfoy, making a small amount of irrational terror bloom in her stomach. Before he could open his mouth and say something monumentally stupid, she looked very pointedly between him and Snape, making him flush and give her a reluctant nod.

Harry did shoot a nasty look toward Malfoy though as if he couldn’t stop himself, a hint of their old rivalry in his expression. Malfoy responded with a rude gesture, his gaze snapping around Harry for an instant and meeting hers with a smirk that looked suspiciously like a smile as mirth danced in his eyes.

“So ‘Mione, you said that you had figured out the problem with that watch, yeah?” Harry said, turning away with a faint glimmer of amusement dancing around the corner of his mouth, pulling her firmly back to comfortable ground.

“Yes, I finished it yesterday. I think we could go ahead” she answered, fishing the small jewelry box from her bag and handing it to Harry.

“Thanks ‘Mione. I’ll let you know how it works out, yeah?” Harry muttered, already tucking the box away into his pocket. He gave her a quick smile before he left the Hall, Snape trailing along behind him in a pensive sort of way.

“Hey ‘Mione, who do you think the Ferret is hanging around?” Ron mumbled through his mouthful of bacon, eyebrows raised in question.

Hermione just sighed.

* * *

Harry strode down the hall next to Snape as they made their way toward the potions classroom and Slughorns office, having agreed that they wanted this attempt over as quickly as possible. They were both tired from restless sleep and Severus had avoided looking at him when they got up that morning, obviously uncomfortable with what he had shared.

When they had gotten to breakfast Harry had started to veer toward the Gryffindor table, wanting to catch up with Hermione on her first day back, but stopped himself when he realised that he would much rather stay next to Severus. They felt fragile today, in a way that they hadn’t since that night in the prefects bathroom and Harry didn’t want to be too far away from the other man.

Severus had given him a mildly unsettled look but had given up in favor of staring daggers at Dumbledore, who looked considerably less concerned about the show of temper than Harry thought was acceptable. He’d never been able to sit comfortably through that particular expression when it was aimed at him.

They’d made it through the morning with only the mild disturbance of Malfoy and Parkinson’s argument and Harry’s subsequent battle to stop Severus from marching over and hexing Pansy. He’d won it, barely, but he was sure he’d pay for it later.

Harry was brought back abruptly as they approached Slughorns office, trying to push his worry about Severus and his growing suspicions about Hermione and the _looks_ she had been exchanging with Malfoy. He didn’t want to consider Parkinson’s accusations, because it hadn’t escaped his notice that every morning he went to visit her, half the hospital bed was empty and looked slept on.

Harry shifted nervously as he rapped on Slughorn’s door. A thump and the sound of shuffling steps came to them before the older man opened the door, blinking at him in confusion before breaking into a wide smile.

“Harry my boy! What a pleasant surprise! Come in, come in, let’s get you settled with some tea.” He bustled off, his old but still rich robes hanging off of his stooped shoulders as he leaned over a tea tray. The office was warm and filled with books, the specimen jars, and weirdly flickering candles gone, leaving behind a surprisingly cozy space.

Harry raised his eyebrows at Severus, his lip quirking on the edge. Severus glowered at him and huffed, knowing exactly what the source of Harry’s amusement was. Harry was very much looking forward to teasing Severus for his dramatic atmosphere building later.

“What brings you here?” Slughorn turned, his smile wilting a bit when he noticed the other Professor. “Oh, Severus, I didn’t see you there.”

“I was at the door with Harry… right in front of you” Severus muttered, incredulous. “How have you survived two wars?”

“Never mind, I just needed to ask you if you had any anglerfish luminescence” Severus continued before Slughorn could say anything else, his tone radiating his contempt for the other wizard.

“Oh, well I’m not certain. You’re more than welcome to check through my stores though” Slughorn offered.

“Very well. Potter I would prefer not to have to worry about you knocking over anything priceless or dangerous. Stay here with Horace.” He didn’t wait for a response before sweeping out of the room with a snap of black robes.

Harry settled his face into the expected expression of a mutinous teenager being ordered around as he flopped into a nearby chair.

Slughorn gave him a pitying look and handed him a tea.

“I hope it’s not been too awful Harry. Severus can be a hard man to be around, but you seem to be doing an admirable job of it” Slughorn offered.

Harry forced his face to show the appropriate gratitude at the man’s concern and slowly pulled the small box from his pocket.

“Actually Professor, I have been hoping to have a minute with you. Me and Hermione got you something as thanks for inviting us to all those parties you’ve had and the help you’ve been this year.” Harry felt his tongue stumble a bit and winced, ready for Slughorn to look at him like he was an idiot for trying something that was obviously suspicious. He was nowhere near as accomplished as Riddle at flattery.

Instead, he got an excited and pleased look as the Professor leaned forward eagerly. Harry held out the box for Slughorn to take with no small amount of surprise and watched him open it, his gaze turning admiring.

“Why that’s very kind of you Harry, very kind. Please extend my thanks to Ms. Granger as well” he said as he slipped the watch over his pudgy wrist and secured the clasp.

Harry just blinked, caught off guard at how simple it had been. He had been prepared to wheedle and make the most of his fame to get Slughorn to put the damned thing on, only for the man to completely deflate his plans.

Slughorn was carefully winding the small gears as he told Harry about some ministry official in games and sports that was getting him front row seats to the Holyhead Harpies match next month as Harry sipped his tea to hide his surprise. He had spent far too much time around paranoid people, Slughorn seemed like he was just asking to be cursed.

A tiny snick sounded and Harry caught the sudden look of slightly detached sleepiness in Slughorn’s gooseberry eyes.

“Professor, can you tell me what your full name is?” Harry asked warily, waiting to see if the spells had worked. Hermione had been fairly certain they would and had added both a light memory charm and a confundus charm to the truth spells.

“Horace H. F. Slughorn” that man answered drowsily.

“Great. I have a really important question for you Professor, and I need you to tell me exactly what happened, alright?” Harry set his tea down and leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees. Slughorn just nodded, his attention wandering a bit to the shelves covered in pictures of former students, his eyes going in and out of focus.

“When you were first a professor here at Hogwarts you had a student, name of Tom Riddle, and one night he asked you a question, about something called a Horcrux.” Here Harry paused as Slughorn jerked a bit, his eyes fluttering with alarm. Harry waited quietly until that older man had calmed. He heard the slight scuff of a boot behind him but didn’t bother turning to look at Severus.

“Professor, I need you to tell me exactly what you told Tom Riddle that night,” Harry said, watching as Slughorn squirmed in his seat, looking like he wanted to get up but his body wasn’t entirely in his control. His soft hands clenched and released his robes, leaving them wrinkled and damp from the sweat on his palms.

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know, I couldn’t know what he would be” that choked reply came first, squeezed out ahead of the flow of words the truth spell was forcing from him.

“I told him, I told him what I knew about them, how a wizard could anchor his life forever, escape death if he did the unthinkable.” He gasped, fingers scrabbling at his waistcoat. “He asked me if more than one could be made, more than one, can you imagine such a thing?”

Harry felt Severus move up to his side, robes brushing over his arm.

“Horace, did he give you a number? Did he tell you how many he was thinking of making?” Severus asked, his eyes focused with a furious intensity on the older wizard.

A terrible whimpering noise came from Slughorn before he collapsed back into his chair, breathing hard.

“He asked… he said seven. He wanted to tear his soul into seven pieces. I tried to tell him, I tried to make him see that it was terrible, that it would drive him mad.” Slughorn sounded almost desperate that they believe him, even though his eyes were still hazy with the spell and his words were slurring.

Severus had gone silent and swept off to the other side of the office, pacing. The reddish brown carpet was worn all along the edge, not having been replaced during redecorating; it still bore the wear of Severus’ boots from years of walking the same length as he wrestled with his thoughts.

Harry leaned forward and tapped the watch, his magical signature disrupting the spells and making them fall away in glowing blue filaments. Hermione had warned him to keep the session as short as possible since she wasn’t sure how long the spells would all hold.

“It’s alright Professor, I was just asking about that essay on the effects of dittany in burn salve, nothing to worry about. Thank you for helping me, but it looks like Professor Snape is back and I need to leave” Harry said gently.

“Oh, of course, my boy, I’m glad I could help” Slughorn looked confused and a bit frail as he bid goodbye to them both, absently fingering his new watch, now nothing more than a muggle timepiece.

* * *

The rest of April sped past in a blur of planning, classes and late night meetings in Severus and Harry’s rooms.

Severus had sent a message to Dumbledore right after they had spoken to Slughorn, letting him know how many Horcruxes they were likely hunting for, but hadn’t heard back.

Granger and Weasley both had taken to appearing in the dungeons after curfew, which after the first few times Severus stopped taking points and simply grumbled from his chair by the fire, which was soundly ignored. He wasn’t sure how his chambers had become the defacto meeting place for the younger Order members, but he felt like he hadn’t gotten as much say in it as he might have liked.

They spent much of their time trying to work out what items were Horcruxes and where they might be. They hadn’t gotten confirmation from Dumbledore, but everyone was convinced that the cursed ring was one. They knew for certain that the diary had been one. After looking through several of the books that Granger had brought with her from the Black library there wasn’t any doubt.

Harry was sure that Hufflepuffs cup and Slytherin’s locket were both Horcruxes, but other than Dumbledore’s obvious suspicions and Harry’s conviction that ‘It seems like something Riddle would do’ they had no proof, and no one had seen either item in decades.

They were at a loss for the other items. Granger and Harry were adamant that the last two items were likely tied to the other two founders, which made a certain sort of sense but Severus had disagreed. It wouldn’t do to get stuck with the idea of looking only for founder's objects and miss the real thing. Plus he was uncertain that the Dark Lord would ever place his soul in anything related to Gryffindor. He seemed to take it as a personal mission to continue the rivalry that Salazar had started.

It was nearing the end of April, the first buds of spring finally breaking free in the Highlands, where winter was more reluctant to fade when Severus finally received a summons from Albus.

He was briefly tempted to throw it in the fire and pretend he’d not seen it. The Headmaster had been avoiding him for weeks and had even changed the password to his office. Minerva hadn’t known the new password either, which had made her pinch her lips in that particular way that meant nothing good was in store for whoever had upset her.

They had finally gotten time to sit down with Minerva and fill her in on everything. She’d taken it better than Severus had expected and only had two glasses of scotch before she got down to the business of interrogating them.

Minerva had agreed with him concerning the possible objects. According to her, Riddle had an unnerving hatred of Gryffindor, though he hid it well. She had also mentioned that if he were to use a founders object, the only known one of Gryffindors was his sword, which was obviously not cursed.

Harry had looked rather dumbfounded at the simple explanation and had spent the rest of the night rewriting his Horcrux notes.

Severus spent almost a half hour dithering around their rooms, reorganizing books and tidying his desk before Harry’s huffs of annoyance got to be too frequent and he finally agreed to see Albus.

When they reached the office, having gotten past the Gargoyle with a muttered ‘earwax’ which he was certain he didn’t want to know how that particular password was related to sweets, there were more people than he had expected crowded around in hastily transfigured chairs.

Granger and Weasley sat in the large worn leather chairs in front of the desk, with Minerva off to the side in a tartan wing back. Severus didn’t notice Draco until he shifted around to look at them, having perched himself on a short stool just to the side of Granger.

Harry flicked his wand and one of the curtains peeled off of the high window to make itself into a short, very purple, sofa. Severus settled himself next to Harry and tried to look like he wasn’t considering dragging Dumbledore up the staircase to his private quarters to berate him.

“Well, I believe that’s everyone,” Albus said cheerfully as he stood to fetch tea for everyone, his robes an alarming match to his curtains. “I hope everyone is in good health. I fear there are many things to discuss and not much time to do so.”

Everyone in the room was glowering at Albus, except for Draco, who seemed to be glaring at Severus between his looks of rather sappy idiocy at Granger. Severus felt his lips curl up at the thought of Lucius’ impending heart attack if he found out his one and only heir fancied a muggleborn.

“Most of you are aware of the objects we are hunting. I first wished to thank you all for your efforts in gaining the needed information from Horace.” Dumbledore smiled pointedly at both Granger and Draco, who both looked unimpressed.

“Now, a few important things. Harry, last time I saw you, you left before I could tell you that Hepzibah Smith died the day after the memory that we watched, both items went missing and her elf was accused of poisoning her.

Harry nodded a bit before asking “and what are the last two then?”

Dumbledore looked a bit startled that Harry had figured out the first four. “Well, my boy I’ve not been able to find any further information. I have spent most of this year and last hoping to track down and destroy as many as I can but I’m afraid I only found the ring.” Dumbledore seemed to shrink in front of them at this admittance, his shoulders stooping and for the first time Severus could remember, he looked frail and uncertain.

Silence fell around the office, broken only by the brief rush of wings as Fawkes landed on the sofa next to Harry and bumped his arm to demand gentle head scratches.

“I assume I’m not supposed to know what you’re talking about, and if that is the case I fail to see why I was called here,” Draco said from his perch, his voice cold and smooth.

“Ah, Mr. Malfoy. I had rather hoped to bring you into the fold, so to speak, but I wished for input from the rest of the group, seeing as everyone is somewhat upset with me at the moment.” Dumbledore looked around at the gathered witches and wizards, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

Granger and Minerva were the first to agree, earning a smile and a surprised look respectively. Weasley grumbled for a moment but acquiesced when Granger leaned over and dug her finger into his side. Harry gave a slow reluctant nod, and all attention turned toward him.

“What, don’t trust me with any of your secrets Uncle Sev?” Draco bit out, his voice vicious with a wide edge of hurt.

“Melodrama ill suits you Draco, as well you know. I do not wish to place you in any further danger than you are already in, and the more information you have the more likely something is to slip” Severus explained, making Harry draw his breath in sharply at the reminder of Severus’ duty to keep Draco safe.

“I’m changing my vote. If Severus thinks it could be dangerous, then we shouldn’t let Malfoy know” Harry said quickly, shifting his leg to press tight to Severus’, as if he needed reassurance that he wasn’t going to fall over dead from the vow.

Draco had been looking angrier and angrier but his eyes flicked down as Harry moved closer to Severus and a slow horrified sort of understanding came over his face. Severus couldn’t stop himself from shifting a bit uncomfortably, not liking the look his godson was giving them.

“This is because of your vow, isn’t it?” Draco asked, his voiceless confrontational.

“This is because I am your godfather and I care whether or not you’re injured or killed” Severus snapped, nearly missing the small nod that Harry gave Draco in response.

“And what vow is that precisely?” Minerva broke in, looking back and forth between all of them. Weasley was looking just as confused, though that was fairly close to his usual expression so it was anyone’s guess if he knew what was going on.

A strained silence overtook the room, Granger looking down at her lap uncomfortably while Draco glared at Severus and Harry just glared at everything.

“Severus has agreed, at my insistence, to do me the favor of ending my life when the time comes” Dumbledore finally said, for once looking apprehensive.

Minerva held very still, staring blankly at the Headmaster for long enough that everyone began to shift uncomfortably. Severus had closed his eyes, not wanting to see hatred in the eyes of one of the few people he thought of as a friend.

“And why would either of you do something so stupid?” the burr in her voice was pronounced in a way it only got when she was very angry or very drunk.

“Minerva you must understand, everything that can be done to stop the curse has been. Severus has managed to contain it and give me extra time, but I fear that time is coming to a close.” Dumbledore sighed heavily and fell into the chair behind his desk. “I made the request of Severus before he was discovered. It would have insured his standing within Voldemort’s circle and would have afforded me a last useful act in this war.”

Minerva narrowed her eyes at that, no longer looking as angry “And you felt the need to force a vow upon him, why?”

“He didn’t, my aunt did” Draco broke in, anger creeping into his voice again.

Minerva turned to Severus with clear question on her face.

“Narcissa and Bellatrix came to see me over the summer. The Dark Lord had given Draco tasks, primarily to kill the Headmaster and to aid in getting Death Eaters into Hogwarts.” Severus said.

Minerva nodded, having been caught up on the Order meetings even if she hadn’t been able to attend.

“Bellatrix never trusted me. She insisted that I give Narcissa an unbreakable vow to aid Draco in completing his tasks and to kill the Headmaster if Draco failed. At the time I had already agreed to Albus’ plan, so it made a great deal of sense to put myself into Bellatrix’s good graces when the opportunity arose. I’m afraid I didn’t plan on being discovered.” Severus finished, leaving the room once again in silence.

“But we’ve got Mrs. Malfoy. Why do we not ask her to release you?” Minerva asked, puzzled now.

“We did. She refused” Harry spat out, his fingers stuttering in Fawkes’ feathers.

Minerva turned to Draco for an explanation, her confusion clear.

“I don’t know. She wouldn’t give me an answer other than she needed to keep me safe” Draco muttered darkly.

Fawkes had slowly crawled off of the arm of the sofa and settled himself into a fiery red loaf on Harry’s lap, the only noise in the room now coming from him in soft happy trills as everyone tried to make sense of what they had heard.

“My Mum would do anything to keep us safe. Anything.” Weasley’s voice brought everyone around to look at him. “She locked Charlie in his room for an entire month when he told her he had gotten a position working with dragons. She was sure he was going to die and even though she knew she couldn’t stop him she still tried.” Everyone was looking at Weasley like he’d lost the point a bit.

“Listen, all I’m saying is Mum’s go mad when they think their kid is going to get hurt. So it’s a bit stupid, yeah, but I mean is it really that surprising? She already pretended to die to save him?” Weasley motioned a bit wildly at Draco, the whole room giving him contemplative looks.

“I believe Mr. Weasley had a point, though I’m afraid not one that will help us much. Ms. Granger, you haven’t been able to convince her further?” Dumbledore asked.

Granger shook her head, her curls tumbling around her shoulders “No, she’s been locked in her room whenever I show up. I haven’t seen her since before I got hurt.”

Draco had been silent through the whole exchange, his brow furrowed as he stared at the carpet in front of his stool.

“I’ll do it,” he said, his voice breaking a bit but looking determined anyway.

“You will do no such thing” Severus understood immediately what he was offering and could hear the panic in his voice and tried to reign it in.

Draco gave him a mulish look “It makes the most sense. You don’t need to gain the Dark Lord’s trust, but I do. It would put me in a better position, a safer one.”

Severus had been opening his mouth to yell but the last point brought his teeth snapping shut.

“He’s right. It takes care of the issue with your vow and it puts him in a better position to spy” Harry said, looking guilty but relieved.

“Mr. Malfoy I’m afraid I cannot in good conscience agree to that” Albus broke in. “One of the reasons that Severus agreed to it was to keep you from having to kill anyone. It is not something to take lightly. Murder, no matter how planned or agreed to, harms the soul.”

“And yet you are willing to make Severus do it,” Draco said, clearly angry, just as Harry stood, his hands curled into fists.

“So that’s it then, doesn’t matter if it fucks Severus up?” Harry’s voice was vicious and if he hadn’t been so angry he might’ve been more surprised to find himself fighting beside Malfoy rather than against him for the first time in their lives.

“Mr. Potter!” Minerva burst out, looking unhappy at the situation but still shocked at Harry’s display.

Severus reached up and hooked his hand carefully around Harry’s jumper sleeve, pulling him back to the couch.

“I made this choice, partially at the request of Albus, but also to save Draco from truly becoming a Death Eater. I feared if he went through with it, he would never have a chance to be anything else.” Severus stated.

“Well that’s not a concern anymore, and it would be stupid to waste the opportunity to put a new spy in place. Right now I’m operating on my family name alone, which isn’t going to get me far.” Draco’s voice was casual and disturbingly practical.

Severus didn’t know how to go about changing his mind, and both Harry and Weasley were nodding at his words. Even Minerva looked as though she was half convinced.

“You could go join your Mum instead,” Granger said. “You don’t need to get closer to Riddle.” She sounded like she already knew the answer but had to try.

Severus expected Draco to snap at her, even if he was a bit enamored, but to everyone’s shock his silvery eyes went soft and he brushed his hand gently over her arm. “You know I can’t. Father won’t stay in Azkaban forever, and when he gets out, if we’re both missing he’ll track us down. Besides, I told you, I’m in this too now.” The last was whispered and only carried because of the complete silence from everyone else.

Granger nodded slowly, her jaw firm. “Alright. If you won’t go then this is probably the best way to keep you safe. Either you need to be gone or important enough that no one will touch you,” she said fiercely.

“If this is truly something that you think you can do Draco then I will leave the decision to you” Albus said.

Severus wanted argue, he never wanted to Draco to have to face that, to have to kill anyone, but he knew Granger was right. Draco had been relatively safe just because he was on the outskirts and he was the heir to one of the sacred 28, but the Dark Lord would kill him if he wasn’t able to do the task assigned. If he wasn’t willing to run then the next best option was to make him valuable, rewarded and honored among the Death Eaters, even if the very thought turned his stomach.

“In that case my boy, I believe it is time you learned about Horcruxes” Albus said, bringing everyone's attention back around.

The meeting lasted several hours, catching everyone up and adjusting plans. Draco didn’t have any ideas for objects but said he would keep an ear open for the Dark Lord discussing anything. By the end of it Albus had admitted that he had a location that might have a Horcrux but he would need a few weeks to prepare before they tried to retrieve it.

Finally hunger and exhaustion started driving people out. Draco, Granger and Weasley left first, Granger throwing the invisibility cloak over herself and Draco as they followed the redhead down the stairs.

Minerva followed after, mentioning that she would do some research into possible Ravenclaw objects.

Severus finally stood, waving the curtain back into place before he turned to Harry. “Would you wait outside for a moment please? I’ve something I’d like to speak with the Headmaster about.”

Harry gave him a narrow look, before nodding slowly. Just as he was about to leave he grabbed the edge of Severus’ robe “Remember, it wasn’t that bad, alright?” he said quietly, his eyes pleading with Severus not to make an issue of it. He nodded sharply before shooing Harry down the stairs and snapping silencing charms up around the office.

Albus turned to him as the wards went up, his eyebrows rising in question. All of the hurt and rage he had been pushing down for the past few weeks roared to life as he turned to look at the man who had been as close as a father figure as he’d ever had.

“Did you know, Albus?” his voice was flat and cold.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be a bit more specific Severus” Albus answered, but there was guilt in his eyes, in the way he shifted himself toward the window.

“Then let me make it abundantly clear. Did you know that the Dursleys were starving Harry? Did you know that they made him live in a cupboard until his letter came? Did you know that they beat him?” Severus almost choked the last out, he was trying so hard not to yell. Harry hadn’t admitted to being hit, but Severus knew what scars from a belt buckle looked like. He and Harry had matching set across their backs.

Albus had turned partway through and Severus had watched his stricken expression slowly morph into one of complete horror.

The old wizard brought a shaking hand to his head as slowly collapsed into the nearest chair.

“I didn’t… I didn’t know” Albus said softly.

“But you knew something. You knew something was wrong and you never checked on him, never visited and told him that he wasn’t a freak?” Severus did yell the last, having heard the hated word come out of Harry’s mouth one too many times just before he screamed himself awake from another nightmare.

“I- Severus the blood wards, they kept him safe. He had to be kept safe, you of all people know why” Albus looked up at him with tired eyes.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare bring that into this. He would have been safe here. He would have been safe with the Weasley’s!” Severus pushed himself away to pace through the room, too angry to stay still. “You wanted him there. Why would you want him there?”

Severus suddenly froze, the question actually sinking in as Albus looked at him with guilt writ large over his face.

“You knew he would have to fight the Dark Lord. You had to make it worthwhile. If the muggle world was awful and the magical world was beautiful and kind then he would do anything to defend it, anything, just as I had.” Severus whispered as he pieced it together. It was brilliant really. Of course, Harry would do anything to save the world he loved, the people he loved. He would never even consider retreating to the muggle world.

“Severus you must know, I didn’t know they were abusing him. I would not have kept him there had I known.” Albus said, not denying his reasons.

“But you didn’t check. You put a child with muggles that hated magic and you never checked on him. You never bothered to ask why he was always so thin at the beginning of the term or why he fled to the Weasley’s as soon as he was able.”

Dumbledore looked beaten down by the words that Severus was spitting at him, no longer able to meet his eyes, he simply gazed at the floor, shoulders thin and low.

“You have done a great many things to win this war Albus, and when he does defeat the Dark Lord it will be in no small part due to you and the horror that you allowed him to be raised in. Harry doesn’t even blame you. But know this, I will never forgive you for what you’ve done. For his sake and for Lily’s.”

Severus spun on his heel, not able to look at Albus. He tore down the ward with a flip of his hand and strode out of the office, not looking back even as his heart broke a little further.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your patience with the delay. Holidays are a hectic time and my job went a little crazy. 
> 
> Wow, this is it, the end of not just the first installment but also my very first fic. I'm thrilled at the responses this has garnered and I hope everyone has enjoyed the story thus far. The next will be starting soon. Thank you, and Happy Holidays.

_Well I believe in Death cause Death has always been a good friend_   
_Well I believe in Death cause Death has always won the last hand_

-The Strumbellas, The Bird That Follows Me

Draco woke late, exhaustion still weighing heavily after a night spent twisting himself out of nightmares filled with flashes of sickly green and diaries that crowded his head with high pitched laughter.

Soft, diffuse light from the watery window filtered in and leached the emerald green of his bed hangings to greyish sage. It was quiet in the dorm, everyone had left for classes or revision somewhere warmer. Draco had a free period until lunch, and for once couldn’t be bothered to be productive, instead just letting his thoughts float.

He had volunteered to kill the Headmaster. Six months ago something like this would have been a dream, an answer to every problem he had, wrapped up and handed to him on a silver platter. Now the very idea sickened him.

Draco rolled over slowly, stretching his back and enjoying the feel of silk sheets sliding over his legs, the sensory input a distraction from the panic he found built so easily nowadays.  
His eyes fell on the notebook that went everywhere with him now, his terrible and precious secret. It balanced on his bedside table, a simple and bright obnoxious green, loops of thin wire holding well thumbed pages together. Nothing a Malfoy would own, so shabby and cheap and muggle, but as with so many other unanticipated things of late, he had learned to love it.

He reached out and pulled it to him, flipping slowly through months of small, stilted conversations, watching them evolve, become more frequent, until Granger's words scrawled over the pages every day, questions and small sketches surrounded by the neat loops of his writing, tangling around hers, weaving their thoughts together into something unexpectedly beautiful and terribly complicated.

He’d suspected, that first night when he’d snuck up to the hospital wing, unable to sleep because he couldn’t stop thinking of the trust that had shone from her face, couldn’t stop seeing it morph into the painfully bruised mask he had last glimpsed. He had turned around twice on the way. Stopped and talked himself out of and back into visiting her countless times and finally found himself outside of the arching doors of the hospital wing, glaring at the floor and hating himself for being a coward just as much as he hated himself for caring.

Standing in that cold, dark corridor, unable to make himself step forward to check on a muggleborn but unwilling to leave, his Father’s voice echoed around his memory, berating him for being lesser, for not besting someone who was so clearly inferior, for allowing the Malfoy name to be lower than a common muggles.

He could feel echoes of the disappointment, the rage that he couldn’t win against her, that she didn’t _care_ who he was, that his name meant nothing to her, that she had hated him for his own self and not his family.

That she trusted him for his own self, in spite of his family.

He’d taken a deep breath and walked in. And kept walking in every night. He stopped questioning himself after the second night, stopped making himself wait to answer her when she wrote to him so he wouldn’t seem too eager. Started talking instead, started writing her first, started sharing the small things that seemed stupid, that no one had ever cared about, except for her; she always listened, always wrote back, showed that she cared in a hundred tiny, inconsequential ways.

And when the first night that she was back in her dorm came he had written with her into the small hours of the morning until they were both bleary eyed and barely scratching out replies, neither willing to let go of the connection they held together with nothing but worn paper and bleeding ink.

He had known, that last night in the hospital wing, when she had fallen asleep and curled her tiny battered frame into his chest, her hair tangled and in need of a wash, her delicate fingers laced through the spaces between the buttons of his shirt and nothing in the world could have made him leave.

Nothing in the world would make him leave, would make him throw away this one chance at something just for him. A chance for someone that just wanted him. Not his money, or his name, or the power that came with it. Just Draco.

All he had to do now was to convince her he was worth it, and not just for a passing bit of illicit fun. The one woman in the whole bloody world that didn’t care about any of the shit that he had been told would win him a wife was, of course, the only one he cared to convince. And all he had left to offer was a life of dubious moral decisions, a history of insults, and a tattoo that showed nothing so much as his inability to stand up for himself.

His long fingers trailed carefully over the notebook as he flipped to the most recent page and saw it was already half filled with her tidy but hurried scrawl, writing to him between her notes in transfiguration, ideas and observations and scathing comments about their book mixing.

A smile pulled across his face as he flopped back, a quill already spilling over the page and answering in the strange haphazard way that they had built.

He eventually pulled himself out of bed, got dressed and slowly trekked toward the great hall, aiming for an early lunch and idly considering a quick flight before his Charms class.

The rattle of heavy footsteps brought his head around as he passed the potions classroom, only to see Weasley darting down the hall toward him on large clumsy feet. The redhead spotted him at the same instant and his face washed with relief.

Draco could feel his stomach tightening with dread. Nothing that made the Weasel look happy to see him could be good. Before he could work himself into a panic and start demanding to know where Hermione was, Weasley got to him.

Panic pinched the pale face and made blue eyes dart back the way he had come “Malfoy, you have to help. I know we hate each other and we can absolutely go back to that, but please, for the sake of anything we both care about please, distract her” Weasley got out, all in a single breath, his words blurring together as he gripped Draco’s arm painfully.

Draco just nodded dumbly, horribly confused. Weasley gave him a look of gratitude mixed liberally with a frantic sort of fear before ducking into a broom cupboard a few steps down the hall and slamming the door shut.

Draco stood in the now empty and echoingly silent corridor, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

His answer came a moment later with a clatter of heels and a high pitched voice sobbing out Weasley’s name. Lavender Brown rounded the same corner Weasley had and stopped short at the sight of him, her eyes narrowing. She looked as though she was in the midst of a fit of hysterics, her blonde hair falling in tangles around her tear blotched face. Her chest was heaving with short gasps as she tottered on her impractically tall heels, her reddened eyes glaring sharply at him.

Draco found himself trying desperately not to laugh as relief washed over him and he briefly but very seriously considered yanking Weasley out of the cupboard just to watch the confrontation.

He only stopped himself because that fell rather clearly into the ‘Things that Hermione would not care for’ box.

“What are you doing here,” Brown asked, her voice sharper and much less weepy.

Draco rolled his eyes at the idiocy of her question. “Since you seem to have forgotten either where you are or where the Slytherin house is, I live down here Brown. What the hell are you doing down here is a far better question.”

She gave him a rather disgusted look despite her smudged makeup “I was looking for my boyfriend. I heard he was down here. Did you do something to him?” she demanded, looking suddenly suspicious.

Draco gave her a considering look “The Weasel is down here? All on his lonesome?”

Brown didn’t cover up the flash of distress that flitted over her features quickly enough. “No, I’m sure Harry and Hermione are with him” she answered, her voice turning up at the end and making it a question.

Draco let his most vicious smile creep across his face. “You’re an awful liar Brown. I suppose I had best go find him, he could be lost after all. It’s so very easy to get turned around down here, I’d hate for him to stumble into something dangerous” he purred, watching her face blanch white.

He ran his hands over his neatly pressed robes, casually pulling his wand from the thin pocket on the side of his black trousers and twirling it through his fingers, letting his threat settle into the tight silence of the corridor.

“No, no it’s fine, I’ll go find him,” she said hurriedly, her hand shaking slightly as she reached into her pocket to grip her wand tightly.

“I suppose I should come along with you, hadn’t I? Wouldn’t want unaccompanied Gryffindors roaming where they aren’t welcome.” He tried out his best impression of the look Greyback seemed to perpetually wear, the one that said he was a missed meal and an insult away from eating someone. If her shudder was anything to go by, he came close.

“Maybe I was wrong, I bet he’s just in the Hall, getting lunch. I’m sure he’s just getting lunch” she said quickly as she slowly backed away from him. “I’ll just… go see” she stuttered as she turned and hurried away, the clack of her heels speeding up after she rounded the corner.

Draco waited a few minutes before he turned and opened the door to reveal a rather rumpled Weasley.

“Merlin Malfoy do you practice sounding like a villain?” Weasley asked as he stumbled over a collapsed pile of brooms and dustpans, his robes having gained several wrinkles and a new hole or two.

Draco raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow at him “I spend a significant amount of time near people who make it a point to terrify everyone. I was bound to pick up something” he couldn’t keep the faint hint of amusement out of his voice as he watched Weasley look suspiciously up and down the corridor.

“Do you have any plans on telling me what that was about? Not that I don’t appreciate a chance to terrorize my fellow students” Draco asked, making Weasley blush and look uncomfortably away.

Blue eyes fixed themselves on the toes of worn trainers as Weasley muttered to the floor “I broke up with her and she just told me no.”

“You mean to tell me you tried to leave Brown and she what? Refused and chased you?” Draco’s voice came out tight as he tried to strangle the laughter inching its way out of his chest.

Weasley’s face was slowly turning the same shade as his hair “Yeah, she didn’t really take it well. Probably could have done it a bit neater really.”

Draco allowed himself a brief moment to savior Weasley’s obvious embarrassment before he let a small disbelieving huff escape and turned away without another word. He was sure to get the full replay soon, and he had no desire to stay in a dim hallway with Weasley, sharing stories about his poor romantic decisions.

He had only taken a few steps away when the clear sound of someone hurrying toward them made Weasley freeze and dart toward his cupboard. The crash of him tripping over his pile of cleaning supplies made Draco wince.

Hermione rounded the corner and stopped, raising a judgmental eyebrow at Weasley, who had only managed to get half of himself back into the small space before slipping and falling gracelessly to the ground. He elected to stay there, his forehead pressed into the cold flagstone and muttering to himself.

“Lavender came up to the Gryffindor table screaming that you were going to murder Ron,” she said, turning to Draco and clearly dismissing her unfortunate housemate.

Draco let a real smile through, feeling it pull the corners of his mouth up and reveal just a hint of dimple that he kept carefully hidden. He was gratified to see Hermione’s eyes glaze a little like someone had clipped her with a low speed bludger.

He was completely screwed where she was concerned and he knew it. It was comforting to believe that she was going down with him.

A clatter drew their attention to where Weasley had rolled himself around to slump against the dungeon wall.

“She didn’t follow you back down her did she ‘Mione?”

Hermione gave a very unladylike snort that he really should not have found endearing “Of course not Ron, she was convinced that Draco was planning on murdering any Gryffindor he found down here.”

“And yet she let you brave my wrath, all alone,” he drawled, unimpressed with Brown’s lack of bravery.

Hermione smirked “All of our house is convinced I'm the only person you won’t try to duel without backup. Something about how you never throw curses at me in the halls and the whole punching incident.” She had the grace to blush slightly at the last. He knew Finnigan started a betting pool in fourth year on when she’d punch him again. Come to think, they could make some decent money off of that.

“Well they aren’t wrong” Draco smiled down at her, having found himself considerably closer without noticing either of them moving.

A throat cleared very pointedly behind him and he sighed, starting to move away, only to have Hermione wrap a hand around his wrist, keeping him planted next to her. He stilled, not inclined to fight it. If she didn’t want him to move then it would take more than the Weasel being uncomfortable to make him.

Weasley clambered upright and shifted from foot to foot like a small child, his eyes darting to them and where her hand was still holding onto him before darting away. He cleared his throat again and started past them, mumbling about going to lunch through suddenly gritted teeth.

Hermione sighed heavily, a soft sound of tired sorrow, and Draco slid his wrist out of her grip, wrapping his hand tightly around hers without thinking. Weasley caught the move out of the corner of his eye and froze, his whole body tense.

Blue eyes locked with his, but instead of the anger he expected, they were filled with quiet resignation.

His eyes shifted to her, sadness bleeding into the pale blue depths “Really ‘Mione? Malfoy?” he asked softly, a small pleading look enhanced by his boyish freckles.

Draco couldn’t stop himself from tensing. He knew, hell everyone knew, that they were supposed to end up together. The school had been watching them dance around each other for years and even Draco had made more than a few cracks about the unfortunate hair their children were sure to have. The thought made his stomach twist unpleasantly as he tried to suppress the sudden flash of a tiny girl with wild, icy blond curls.

A warm line of witch was suddenly pressed to his side and he glanced down to find her smiling gently up at him, jarring him from his thoughts. A tension he didn’t realise he’d been carrying for some time fell away at the strength of her hand holding tightly to his.

“Yes Ron, really,” she answered, finally looking away to glance at her friend. Draco was afraid he was probably smiling like an idiot but at the moment, he couldn’t care less.

Just a hint of pain washed over Weasley’s face before he hid it and for a tiny instant Draco almost felt bad for him, but he’d had his chance, for _years_, and had gone after Lavender Brown instead. Idiot.

The tall Gryffindor shook himself and plastered a painful, put upon look on his face, obviously trying to make light of the situation despite the edge in his voice. “Come on ‘Mione, since when did we decide Slytherins were alright to fancy? I already have to deal with Snape, and now you’ve set the Ferret on me. Should I just go find Parkinson?”

Draco blinked a bit rapidly at the spill of information but recovered quickly enough “Weasley if you proposition Parkinson please, please, let me know beforehand. I intend to make several very large bets and I would hate to miss the show.”

Weasley snorted at him and waved an uncoordinated goodbye over his shoulder as he turned to head back toward the Great Hall, seeming to have reached his Slytherin limit for the day.

Draco spun on Hermione, making her start a bit “So I wasn’t seeing things. Potter and Severus?” he couldn’t help the tiny bit of indignant outrage that laced his question.

“I’m fairly sure that the only reason no one else has guessed is because it’s so unbelievable” she answered with a small smile.

Draco thought for a few moments before he made a face, not enjoying where his mind had wandered. “Are they…” he didn’t know how to finish his question in a way that wouldn’t traumatize him for years.

Hermione shook her head “Harry just figured it out and I don’t think he realises that Snape feels the same. He’s still busy angsting over the whole thing and wouldn’t think to bring it up.”

Draco just shook his head, tugging gently on her hand to get her to start toward the Great Hall, keeping his steps short and slow. “I thought I was seeing things. I mean, I know Severus has been stupid about him for months, but I couldn’t imagine Potter ever even considering… well, anything except maybe murder where my Godfather is concerned.” Draco rubbed along his neck thoughtfully, noting absently that he needed a haircut soon. “He won’t say anything either you know. He’s got a very inconvenient amount of honor, all wrapped around an ocean of guilt. He would never think to try for someone he wanted, and really not the Hero of the Bloody Wizarding World.”

They strode along for a minute in silence as she digested the idea, her face drawn down into an unhappy scrunch.

“Well bollocks”

The profanity uttered in her prim voice startled a laugh out of him just as they drew to a halt a corner before where they would have to become Death Eater and Hero again. She stopped and stepped closer, just of a height to tuck under his chin.

Draco could feel his pulse picking up, her lovely brown eyes scrutinizing his face with an almost suspicious air. Any thoughts of his Godfather and Potter flew out of his mind.

“You’re serious about this?” she asked into the sudden tension, knowing that he would understand what she was asking. The small question carried so much weight, so many layers, that it was staggering. Was he serious? Did he understand the extra layer of danger they were playing with? Would he still be there at the end of the war? Would he shuffle her away, a dirty secret, to preserve the Malfoy name when she became inconvenient? Or did he want to try for something real, something that would be just as hard as his position as a spy in its own right?

The months leading up to this moment washed over him, the late night talks, the meals that appeared when he was exhausted and hurting, working with her to solve what they had to, to win the war. Watching her fall, his name on her lips. Watching her sleep, her hands tangled in some part of him, always reaching for him. The pain that flashed over her face when she had thought he would choose to be with Pansy, with anyone other than her. The care she took of his mother, despite her bigotry. The care she took of him and all the sharp edges that life had left on him.

“Yes,” he answered simply, because, after all, it was simple.

The terror he was braced for didn’t come. The small awful fear that he kept close, the fear that his old feelings of revulsion for her blood status would come back, slowly slipped away when all he felt was yearning as he met her eyes.

A smile curled over her lips and lit her eyes like warm honey as she reached for him. He stooped, meeting her as she pressed up onto her toes.

Her lips brushed his, silky soft and achingly gentle. Her small, strong hands tangled in his hair, drawing him down. He pressed closer, sealing himself to her more firmly, letting the tip of his tongue trace her bottom lip, tasting a hint of mint lip balm and bitter coffee.

There was no hesitance in her, not like the few other girls he had kissed. She kissed him like she’d been doing it all her life, like he was exactly where he was supposed to be. He couldn’t find it in himself to disagree.

A lifetime later she pulled back by tiny degrees, smoothing her hands over his ruffled hair and down his chest, pulling a small involuntary noise from him. He rested his forehead carefully against hers, running shaking hands through her shockingly soft hair. She paused for a moment longer, savoring the chance to hold each other, her fingers tracing the edge of his jaw before she stepped back and drew in a shaky breath.

They stood carefully apart, both taking a moment to come to terms with the change in their relationship, both with naked hope and something decidedly more vulnerable playing over their faces.

Brown eyes suddenly flew wide in alarm and he had his wand in his hand before he realised that she was digging through her bag instead of shielding against an unnoticed attacker.

A moment of searching later she pulled a heavy black leather cuff out, a darker match to the ones he had noticed Potter, Weasley, and Hermione wearing.

“Here, I almost forgot to give this to you. Harry made it for you.”

He took it with no small amount of shock, seeing the tiny silver buckles that would strap it snugly to his wrist, and the almost indiscernible rectangles atop it.

“Potter made me this?” Somehow finding himself agreeing to what was likely going to be the most serious relationship he ever had, with Hermione Granger no less, was considerably less shocking than the idea that Potter would have made something for him.

“He made them for all of us. He’s still finishing the one for Severus, something about potion containment is giving him hell. They have undetectable expansion, featherweight, and a lot of dampening wards on them. You can carry about anything you need to.”

Draco just stared, not sure what to do with Potter doing something nice, something to actively keep him alive.

“Why?” was all he could choke out, his magic already tracing over the terrifying amount of locked space in something so small. So much power went into this. So much. Draco found himself suddenly exceptionally glad that he hadn’t ever found himself truly on the wrong end of Potter’s wand.

“Because he wants to keep you safe. Because he knows what it would do to me, and Snape, if you weren’t” she answered, no hint of coquettishness, just a quiet steely certainty.

“I’ll have to find a way to disguise it, I can’t be seen matching you three” he finally got out, his hands still turning the band over and over. “Tell him thank you for me, would you?” The words were surprisingly easy to get out, the Harry Potter he knew and hated for so long having faded into Hermione’s brother, Severus’ beloved, a man who tried to protect everyone, even him.

He carefully placed the bracelet into his bag before turning his attention to the soft fawn coloured leather on her left wrist. “That is far too plain” he broke out, trying to pull them out of the heavy feeling swirling through the hall.

She glanced down at her cuff in surprise, her lips quirking at the edges as she let him move to easier topics. “Harry is many things, but artistic is not one of them.”

“Well, we can’t have you blending into the crowd. Let’s see what we can do” he snagged her wrist, enjoying having another excuse to touch her. A large part of him simply wanted to end today with something light, but a small part crowed that she should have something as beautiful as she was, something he had made.

By now lunch was well underway, so they likely wouldn’t be disturbed. He eyed the cuff, his mind flipping through what might be an acceptable design for her. He discarded lions for several reasons, and serpents for different but just as valid reasons, even if he did want her to wear a tiny acknowledgment of him.

“Umm, yes I think so” he shot her a lightning fast grin before he covered her cuff with the palm of his hand and whispered soft twisting words, feeling the leather writhe and heat under his palm. He drew his hand back as it settled, smiling at his work.

Delicate vines wrapped around it, the leather bearing the design in intricate burns. In the center, framed by tangled vines, sat a small owl. It was beautiful but lacked detail, instead giving the unmistakable impression of owl without looking like any specific bird, and it glowed with a soft golden light. The whole piece moved lightly, the vines swaying in an invisible wind and ruffling the feathers of the small bird, who blinked slowly up at them.

Hermione traced careful fingers over the artwork “Why an owl? And what language was that? I don’t think I’ve ever heard it” she asked with a bemused smile.

“Athena. The companion of the Goddess of Wisdom and Courage is an owl. I thought it fitting for you.” He could feel the pink filling his cheeks at the sentiment but pushed the embarrassment away at her look of delight. “As for the language, the spell is very old and originated in Mongolia. Decoration of saddles and leatherwork was a huge part of their culture, so some of the most intricate spellwork for that type of art comes from them.”

She was grinning at him now, fascination clear. “Teach me” she demanded, her hand settled possessively over her cuff.

Draco chuckled a bit and promised he would write it into their notes, along with the instructions, so she could practice. He took a chance as they prepared to leave and swooped down, stealing a small kiss from her before he hurried off, her low laughter filling his chest with warmth.

* * *

Severus leaned a little further back from the greyish oily fumes rising from the cauldron on his workbench. Several layers of protective spells kept the steam safely away from him, but he couldn’t help himself. He very rarely worked with something as deadly as Basilisk venom, particularly at these concentrations. Harry had seen how wary he was and had added so many protective shields that he almost hadn’t been able to approach his table. After peeling enough off to make working a viable practice again he had kicked Harry out of the lab and settled in to brew, steadfastly ignoring the tiny spark of happiness that Harry’s ridiculous over protectiveness struck in him.

The potion, which had been a soggy, murky sort of brown, started hissing, tiny bubbles forming across the top of it, the indication he had been watching for. Severus carefully tipped in the finely chopped rue, directing his moon quartz stirring rod into lazy figure eights. He kept a sharp eye, waiting until the potion suddenly _rippled_ and turned a sucking, inky black. He pulled the stirring rod out and turned the heat off, allowing it to start cooling.

If he had made this correctly they now had a reasonable and very portable way to destroy a Horcrux. Pour a bit of this over the item and it would rip the soul free from its binding and trap it long enough for the venom to destroy it.

He left the shielding spells up, not entirely certain he was capable of dismantling all of Harry’s and glanced at the lab door. He pulled a much smaller glass cauldron out of the cabinet once he heard Harry muttering to himself, safely distracted in the sitting room. The greenish liquid moved unnaturally, shifting around the cauldron almost like sand and with the same sibilance.

He pulled the tiny bottle of concentrated venom to himself, his hands swathed in layers of dragonhide even if they did make it harder to work fine movements. It wouldn’t repel the venom, but it would slow it down long enough for him to get away if the worst came about.

With hands that only shook slightly, he let a single drop of Basilisk venom fall into the mixture. It hissed lightly and slowly turned a deep, rich blue, the colour spreading out from where the drop had fallen until it had taken over the whole potion.

He very carefully tipped it into a bottle no taller than his palm, the glass imbued with so many unbreakable charms that he could likely hand it to Hagrid and it would come back without a scratch.

Severus sealed the bottle and slowly sat down, his eyes fixed on it as his hand shook. Somehow he never imagined his death would come at his own hand, from his own potion.

He couldn’t trust that Harry wouldn’t try to save him when the time came, so he needed something fast and effective. The venom had given him a neat solution and he had taken the chance to create a potion that should, if it worked correctly, send the draining pain of his death through the Dark Mark, straight to Voldemort. It would weaken the bastard, and if Severus couldn’t kill him he could at least give Harry a better chance.

He sighed heavily, allowing himself a tiny stolen moment to grieve his life that might have been. Maybe, one day, he would have gotten up the courage to think about why Harry meant so much to him, why he could no longer fall asleep without the other man held tight to him, why Harry was the first person, the only person, that he wanted to share his discoveries with. Why he was _happy_ for the first time in his miserable life.

Severus pushed those thoughts aside as he stood, quietly rolling the poison from hand to hand, dark eyes pensive as he wondered if for the rest of his life Harry would see death in beautiful cobalt blues instead of sickly vibrant green.

He sunk the bottle into his pocket, ready now for when he would need it.

Slow breaths ruffled the dark, lank strands of hair that had fallen in his eyes as he pushed down his fear and the trickles of sadness that he knew Harry would be able to read on his face. He forced his mind to the present, thinking only of what must be finished today. He needed to write the last of his lesson plans and tests, and to spend some time this evening in the room of requirement with Harry if they could get all of their paperwork caught up. He should find the book on Scottish wizarding history that Minerva wanted to borrow, and go over Harry’s Transfiguration essay before he turned it in. His life now, full of small domestic moments.

When he felt calm enough he joined Harry in the front room, making enough noise to let the other man know he was there. The dark haired wizard popped up from his spot by the fire, green eyes held innocently wide and his hands tucked suspiciously behind his back.

“Do I want to know?” Severus asked, his raised eyebrow speaking volumes as he swept around and dropped gracefully into his favorite chair.

Harry gave him a slightly offended look “You know, your eyebrows are more judgmental than most people's entire faces” he said mildly.

Severus stifled a laugh, refusing to encourage Harry’s habit of insulting observations of his person. No, that Harry wouldn’t see it anyway. Somewhere along the way, he had learned to read him better than anyone ever had.

Harry just huffed at his lack of response and thrust something out at him “Here, you might as well have it” he said, voice aggrieved.

He was holding out a matte black leather cuff, a match to the ones he had made for himself, Weasley and Granger.

Severus took it with careful hands, turning the buttery soft material over to look at it properly. It was the same size as the others and had the same tiny buckles to adjust and close it to his wrist, but the top only had two compartments instead of three, and it felt different, like the expanded space wasn’t entirely undetectable.

“I had some trouble with the wards on yours” Harry explained, his eyes a bit anxious. “I had to get rid of the last section so I had room to anchor the shields.”

Severus frowned at him “Shields? What kind of shields were you trying to anchor?”

“Well I figured you’d be carrying potions and probably way more dangerous ones than I would, so I put the same spells on the first section that your lab has, and then I put containment shields up all around the expanded space on both sections, just in case” Harry explained quickly, his fingers tangling together as he bounced his heels lightly.

Severus sat there for a moment, his body frozen as his brain tried to make sense of the frankly senseless explanation.

“You mean to tell me that you put a full set of wards and _shields_ into a cuff? Around an expanded, undetectable wizarding space?” Severus was exceptionally proud that he managed to get his whole question out in an even tone without even a hint of terror.

Harry looked uncomfortable, pulling the sleeves of his jumper over his hands the way he did when he was unhappy.

“It’s not completely undetectable. I tried to get it there, but no matter what I did you can still tell it’s _something_, not just a plain bracelet.” Green eyes frowned down at the cuff in his hand as if it refused to comply just to offend him.

Severus blinked, trying to come to terms with the young man in front of him. He knew of course that Harry was powerful, there had been ample opportunities for him to see that. He had spent the last year learning that Harry was considerably smarter than he had been given credit for, and perhaps the repeated attempted murders had negatively affected his grades throughout the years.

Severus had even mostly gotten used to Harry doing completely impossible things simply because no one bothered to tell him not to try.

And then something like this would happen and throw him so off course that he wasn’t sure which way was up.

“Harry, where did you get the idea to try and put wards over wizarding space?” Severus asked softly.

Harry looked a bit suspicious but finally stopped twitching and sat down on the couch nearest Severus’ chair.

“Well I found a book that went over containment wards for wand making when I was looking for a way to keep your wrist from blowing up” he started, summoning over a small brown leather book that Severus had seen him reading through often in the last month.

“Nothing really fit, since wizarding space is so weird. Like, it changes right? As you put more stuff in it gets bigger, take some out, it shrinks, so how do you ward something like that?” Harry was getting more excited as he explained himself, scooting to the edge of the couch to accommodate the exaggerated movement of his hands.

Severus was nodding along but found himself wondering when Harry had the time to go over something as complex as charmed space.

“So I figured if I could just set it and make it stay the same size all the time I could ward it and put some shields up, which worked, but it did something weird to the undetectable part of the expansion charm and everything just got muffled instead of vanishing.” Harry sat back as he finished, the excitement of a moment before replaced by a frown of frustration.

Severus opened his mouth several times but nothing came out. Finally, he leaned forward and snagged Harry’s abandoned teacup, swallowing the bitter icy liquid with a grimace.

“Harry, we need to write up a paper. And maybe a patent. And inform as least Flitwick and Minerva.”

Harry gave him an odd look, obviously confused.

“You managed to make static wizard space, something that people have been attempting for centuries. And you made it in a fucking bracelet.” Severus slumped back, briefly considering how impressive Harry was going to be after Voldemort was no longer distracting him. He felt a small prick of pain when he considered exactly how much he was never going to get to see. Merlin he was going to be astounding.

“Oh,” Harry said softly, his face flushing as he twisted away to stare into the fire. “You’re still going to keep it though right? Cause that wasn’t easy to make.”

Severus’ hand snapped possessively over his cuff before the thought fully settled. He stared down at the innocent looking leather as he ran his thumb over the ridges of the compartments, one of the most significant magical discoveries of his lifetime cradled in his lap.

“I should put it somewhere for safe keeping” he finally responded slowly, not particularly liking the idea. Some small part of him was painfully delighted that such a discovery had come about not because decades of carefully compiled research, but because someone who cared for him defied magic to keep him safe.

Harry huffed “Well if you just want to prove the theory then I can make something else, just keep the damn thing on you ok? It’s got a lot of stuff that could save your life alright?”

Severus found himself nodding slowly and reaching his right arm out for Harry to strap his new cuff on. Harry shot him a grateful smile as his calloused hands deftly undid the tiny buckles and strapped it on, smoothing his hand almost absently over the cuff and Severus’ arm.

Severus found himself tracing long fingers over the edges of his gift for the rest of the night while he had Harry walk him through the process he had used. They finally made it to bed after even Severus had run out of questions, and as he fell asleep he found a small smile playing over his thin lips at the feel of two bracelets, both tying him closer to the man beside him.

* * *

Harry waved a distracted goodbye to Ron and Hermione as he fell into step beside Severus, hurrying to match his strides to the longer legs of his companion. Transfiguration had run over since McGonagall hadn’t gotten class started until almost fifteen minutes past, too busy poking at the cuff he had made Severus. He was almost regretting telling him what he’d done to it. Harry hadn’t wanted any of this fuss, he’d just wanted to make sure Severus didn’t blow his damned hand off.

They got to the Defense classroom just as the bell rang, rushing in to drop bags at the large front desk. Instead of retreating to Severus’ office, Harry took a seat off to the side where he usually settled when he was helping with a lesson. He got a few odd looks from the seventh years since he never helped with any of their work but was mostly ignored. He and Severus had agreed that he would help with the patronus charm for a couple of his seventh year classes since a large portion seemed to be having trouble with them and they would probably show up on NEWTs testing this year due to the rise in dementor activity.

Harry tuned out as Severus began going over the lesson and collecting essays from the last week, thinking idly about what his revision schedule would need to be since they were coming up on end of the year tests rapidly.

He blinked and looked up when Severus said his name.

“Potter will be assisting in today’s practical lesson as he is familiar with the patronus charm and can aid me in guiding those of you that have had trouble,” Severus said, dark eyes daring anyone to complain about being taught be a sixth year.

A few confused and some disbelieving looks were cast his way but no one said anything.

“I assume all of you remember what the incantation is? If not I suggest you correct your lack of knowledge quickly” Severus looked pointedly at a small group of Hufflepuffs in the middle of the room, all of which were trying to flip through their defense books without appearing to.

“As you know, a properly cast patronus charm will protect you from dementors and can be used as a secure and expedient messenger. A patronus cannot be interfered with or stopped, but keep in mind that without proper instruction it will find its recipient regardless of who is near. This has historically been a problem with those who lack the foresight to instruct it not to appear to muggles.” Black robes snapped around the ankles of his dragon hide boots as he paced, his tone implying that only an idiot would send his patronus into a muggle area.

Severus pulled his dark wand from the holster on his arm, a flash of black leather cuff showing for an instant as his sleeve rode up. “If you have cast it properly it will take the shape of an animal. What form your patronus takes is directly linked to the memory you use to call it. Since a successful patronus charm can only be cast by using your strongest happy memory it is both intensely personal and subject to change.”

When no one raised a hand or commented Severus nodded to himself and stepped forward, flicking his wand in the graceful, economical way that he cast everything.

“‘_Expecto Patronum_”

A familiar silvery doe burst out of his wand and cantered briefly around the room before coming to stand in front of its caster, waiting. It looked a bit strange, Harry noted, like it was more transparent than usual.

A small sea of gasps came from the students watching, and Harry smiled a little at the glowing creature.

“Harry?” Severus said quietly, motioning him forward.

Harry pulled his holly wand from his holster, his mind already reaching for the feeling of belonging, of family, of Sirius and his parents, that had always brought forth his stag.

He raised his wand to cast but paused, his steps stuttering to a halt beside Severus as he felt his magic resist, not flowing into the huge antlered shape as it should.

“Harry?” Severus said again, his tone questioning now with a thread of worry buried deep. Harry shook his head, dismissing the concern.

He reached again for the memories and closely held dreams that had for so many years resided in him, ready to call forth whenever he needed. A worm of panic began building as chairs shifted uncomfortably and whispers drifted through the room when he just stood there, his eyes closed as he searched more and more desperately for the _feeling_ he needed to call a patronus. Nothing short of the memory or thought that caused the strongest emotion would work, as he had found out so painfully in third year.

Harry heard Severus shift beside him and frantically reached for the feeling he needed rather than the memory. The almost protective longing that had resided at the heart of his patronus for so long, all tied up in the idea of _belonging_, of _family_, didn’t manifest.

Instead, an aching, desperate sort of contentment welled up, and with it came the memory of a thousand small touches from long, graceful hands, the sound of deep laughter, the warmth of strong arms and the beat of another's heart under his ear.

“_Expecto Patronum_ he whispered.”

Harry knew before he opened his eyes, before he heard the sharply drawn breath from the tall man beside him, before gasps and chattering filled the room.

When he finally looked, it took him a moment to find his patronus, no longer dancing on four hoofs and tossing antlers proudly, waiting patiently for its wizard.

A ruffle of ghostly silver feathers drew his attention to the huge raven perched atop the bookshelf near the windows. It cocked its head at him and opened its beak in a soundless, mocking caw, a glimmer of mischief in its eye.

Harry barely heard Severus setting the class to working, his gaze locked on the enormous bird. He could feel it, could feel Severus at the heart of it, making it glow almost painfully bright. If he had harbored any doubts about his feelings this was irrefutable proof. A patronus didn’t change unless its caster had been changed in such a significant way that the very core of their happiness had shifted.

Harry’s attention was brought back by the sound of a throat clearing. He turned to find Severus, his face set into a glower, his eyes sliding away from Harry.

Harry quickly waved a hand, dismissing the bird.

“You’ll take the right side of the room,” he said abruptly before he turned sharply and walk off, his arm snapping almost violently as he dismissed his doe.

Pain welled up in Harry at Severus’ dismissal. Of course, he knew. It was so obvious, a huge dark bird, known for its intelligence? The only person in Harry’s life that could have caused his patronus to change into such a form was busy ignoring him because it was so horribly _obvious_ there was no way he was going to be able to convince anyone that he didn’t love Severus.

“Fuck” he whispered as he moved off to help a Ravenclaw boy who had managed to create a wispy shield.

Harry made it through almost half of the lesson before a Hufflepuff, a friend of Hannah’s, asked him the question he had been dreading.

“So Harry, wasn’t your patronus a stag?” the girl asked, dark brown hair swinging over her shoulder as she pretended casualness.

Harry swallowed before answering, his voice shaky, “Yes, it was.”

“So who’s the lucky girl then? Don’t tell me its Granger, I’ll lose so much money on that bet” she asked cheerfully.

Harry was struck dumb for just an instant, hardly able to believe that anyone wouldn’t know as soon as they saw the raven staring rather condescendingly down its beak.

“Erm.. no. Uh, no girl I mean” Harry stumbled, feeling unbalanced.

“Oh, a boy then?” the girl looked more intrigued and he briefly wondered exactly what kind of bets there were concerning his love life. If he were a braver man he’d ask Seamus.

A crash brought his head whipping around to find Severus standing closer than he had realised, next to a pile of books that had recently been on the desk next to him, his face twisted in anger and hurt.

Harry moved toward him without thinking, alarm winging through him at the expression. He knew Severus would be upset about the patronus that declared his feelings like one of the stupid singing Valentines balloons, but it shouldn’t have put that look on his face. Harry felt his breath catch, wanting to make it better, whatever it was.

Severus stepped back, turning and dismissing him, his back a line of tension.

Harry drew himself up, his shoulders hunching as he turned back to go over how to bring forth the appropriate type of memory yet again with the students around him.

Harry spent the remainder of the lesson staying as far from Severus as he could, trying to dodge the feeling of rage that was slowly filling the other side of the room.

By the time the bell rang, everyone was so tense that students nearly knocked over desks in their hurry to get away from them.

Harry stood quietly in the middle of the room, dreading the upcoming conversation. It would ruin everything. Severus would go back to trying to stay as far away as possible, sleeping stretched out and away from him, no longer inviting him to help in the lab or to duel beside him.

Severus was angrily sorting through the pile of seventh year essays and packing them away into his bag, eyes fixed pointedly on his work.

“Severus?” Harry said hesitantly.

“What do you want Potter? Praise after you stumbled over a spell you’ve been able to cast since third year?” he snapped.

Harry stopped, a frown pulling his brows together. That didn’t sound at all like the embarrassed anger he was expecting.

“Are you mad at me?” Harry asked, honestly baffled. He had expected anger, but not like this. He had expected Severus to be uncomfortable and slowly have it fade into a detached kind of upset, not this rage.

Severus stilled, his hands pressed flat to the desk in front of him.

“I don’t care to discuss your love life Potter, but if you think for an instant I will allow whoever it is that has caused this-” he flipped a hand in the direction of the bookshelf “- bird to appear into my rooms or follow along on some lovesick teenage date you are utterly mistaken.” Severus was breathing heavily as he finished, his knuckles white from the press of his fingertips into the surface of the desk.

Harry felt his mouth fall open in surprise, his brain flopping as he tried to make sense of Severus’ statement.

How could he not tell? The raven felt just like him, prickly and protective, smart and fierce and precious because of the mind that lived behind the opaque eyes.

“I’m not dating anyone,” Harry said stupidly, his mouth moving without his permission.

Severus stiffened further before he grabbed his bag and walked on rapid feet to the door.

“I believe I just informed you about how very little I wish to gossip about your love interests” he hissed before throwing himself out the door, a very confused Harry trailing behind him.

* * *

It shouldn’t have hurt at all, let alone as much as it did. Merlin, he was a fool.

He’d tried so hard to pretend that what he felt for Harry was similar to what he’d felt for Lily, that the desire to be close to him, to hold him, to stand between him and anything that could harm him was nothing more than love for the son of his best friend, for his sister in all but blood.

The instant that the huge, winged shape burst from Harry’s wand he had known better. The months of denial, of shame that he would consider a man he had watched grow up in a romantic sense, the feelings he had tried so hard to ignore, all came crumbling down like a sandcastle under waves.

He felt like a corner of his heart had frozen and broken off as the raven looked mockingly down on him, like it knew his awful secret and hated him on behalf of whoever it was that had won Harry’s heart.

His first thought had been Granger, but he’d dismissed it almost as quickly. He’d seen how they acted together, besides Granger really did seem interested in Draco and Harry hadn’t seemed more bothered than he would expect by the idea.

The only other person that Harry spent any time around was Weasley, or perhaps some of the order members, though that seemed a stretch.

The seventh year Hufflepuff, O’Malley, had finally asked what he was sure the whole class had been desperate to know but instead of embarrassment, Harry had just looked confused.

When he had denied it being a girl though, Severus had known it had to be Weasley. Before he could stop himself he had jerked around and knocked a pile of books off a desk. Harry had looked so concerned, reaching for him as if to comfort him and Severus suddenly knew that if Harry touched him right then he wouldn’t be able to hold himself together.

He let his bewildered hurt turn to anger, pushing it toward rage, and by the time the class was over he felt like he might be able to prevent himself from doing something truly embarrassing like begging Harry to never leave him even if he was in love with someone else.

The next week was somehow more painful and more awkward than the first few weeks together. He’d even pulled the bolster back out and he’d barely slept. What little sleep he had managed was rife with nightmares and when Harry had reached over to wrap himself around Severus after a particularly bad one, Severus had jerked away so violently that he had cut a thin line into his wrist with the metal cuff.

Harry had stopped trying to talk to him after that, had stopped trying to reach for him and instead kept himself silent and as far away as he could get. He retreated to his group of Gryffindors and surrounded himself with Weasley’s and Granger. Every time Severus saw the tall redhead wrap a comforting arm around Harry or carefully place extra food on his plate a helpless sort of rage made his throat tight.

He knew he had to stop, that he had to get a better hold on his emotions because at this point the only thing that could make this worse would be for Harry to realise why he was so upset. The very thought made him feel sick.

Three days after the incident in defense the story broke in the Prophet.

**Boy Who Loved?**

Was splashed garishly across the front page with an artist's rendition of a raven. Several interviews had been given by his seventh year class and he mentally began tallying up how much detention he could give them before the end of the year.

He had glanced at the Gryffindor table before he could stop himself to find the Golden Trio bent over the paper and whispering furiously. He felt his face twist at how closely Weasley was pressed to Harry, only to freeze as Granger looked up and caught him staring.

His face flushed as she gave him a narrow eyed, considering look before her gaze darted across the hall and met Draco’s. Some lightening fast communication flashed in that tiny instant before she turned her attention back to the paper.

It took ten days for that glance to make sense. He was restlessly walking around the front room when a sharp knock sounded on his door. Harry was in the bedroom reading and ignoring Severus to the best of his ability. Despite his intentions, Severus hadn’t managed to get proper control of himself and he and Harry had barely spoken in days.

Severus opened the door to find no one there and simply stepped aside with a sigh, trying to suppress the immediate well of anger. Granger and Weasley hadn’t slunk down to his rooms since before the patronus incident and he had been secretly hoping for more of a reprieve.

He stilled when the cloak came off and instead of blue eyes, icy grey stared pointedly back at him.

Draco moved gracefully over to the couch, raising an arm to tuck Granger close to his side when she settled next to him. Granger waved her wand, sending up silencing charms after she eyed the closed bedroom door for a minute.

“I didn’t realise I was available for social calls,” he said to the two on the couch, a small twinge at their position a reminder of so many nights curled up with Harry right where they were.

“Oh this isn’t a social call, this is an intervention,” Draco said pleasantly.

Severus blinked a bit at his godson before what he said sank in. His face fell into a scowl.

“I don’t know what you two think you’re playing at, but I will warn you, my patience is thin,” he said coldly.

To his shock, Granger snorted “You know how you’ve been wrong so many times about Harry?” She continued before he could answer, looking much less intimidated than she should “We’re here to help you pull your head out of your arse before you screw up so badly it can’t be fixed.”

Severus choked, his eyes bugging out in a way he was certain was horribly unattractive.

“How dare you” he whispered, the rage he had been searching for finally pulling him under.

“We dare because we love you, you idiot,” Draco said softly, more affection in his voice than Severus could remember hearing for years. It knocked the anger back like a splash of icy water. He slowly fell into his chair as the horrible realisation that they must _know_ made his heart sink.

Granger sat forward abruptly, Draco’s hand falling to rub absent circles on her back.

“This is all because of his patronus,” she said, a statement rather than a question. “What about it upset you so much?”

If her tone had been anything but the gentle curiosity that it was he would have been able to ignore her, to grab hold of the anger and hurt he had been clinging to so tightly the last weeks. He knew the instant he let go and let himself acknowledge the pain of what had happened he would have to let go of Harry and he hadn’t been able to bring himself to.

He swallowed heavily and felt the awful sharp wound tear open a little further, knowing he had to try and start letting go, for both their sakes.

“I simply did not realise that Harry was emotionally involved with someone to such an extent. It surprised me” he said, not willing to admit to anything, regardless of what they might or might not guess.

To his confusion, both Granger and Draco sat back and shared a puzzled look.

“What do you mean, emotionally involved with someone? He’s stupidly in love, literally, anyone can see that” Draco said, a strange look on his face.

A fresh wave of pain rippled through him, but he resolutely ignored it. “I’m afraid I don’t pay as much attention to Potter’s love life as the rest of the world and as his actions toward Weasley have hardly changed I can’t be blamed for not noticing,” he said stiffly, wanting this conversation to be over. “I did not react well, but I can assure you that will not be a problem in the future.”

He stood quickly and walked around the couch, making for his lab, fully intending on dragging his stash of Christmas Scotch out and drinking himself insensible.

A small hand caught his arm on the way by and he spun, his lips twisting into a snarl.

“Wait, please. What does Ron have to do with this?” Granger asked, confusion in every line of her small frame.

Draco gaped, twisting around on the couch to look over the back at him “He thinks it’s the Weasel. He thinks Potter has gone and fallen in love with the Weasel.”

Severus froze “He is not in love with Mr. Weasley?” he asked carefully, his mind scrambling to think of who else it could be.

Granger gave him an almost pitying look, make his spine stiffen.

Draco snorted “A raven? You think that a raven would represent Weasley? Maybe a pig, but not anything that doesn’t eat half its body weight daily.”

Severus could feel his irritation building. He tried to convince himself it didn’t matter, not really. Not that he would ever have had a chance anyway, but anyone that Harry loved enough for it change his patronus, no one stood a chance against.

It was Granger that got up though and stepped slowly in front of him before firmly but gently bringing his whole world to an end.

“Severus it’s you,” she said, her brown eyes kind.

Every thought left his head, better than any round of occlumency he had ever managed, a strange echo of nothing floating through him.

“Pardon me?” he asked, perfectly polite as if he just presented the appropriate manners then everything would make sense again.

“You. The raven is for you. Who else would it possibly be?” Draco was just impatient now.

“That would imply that Harry is in love with me,” Severus said carefully as if he was talking to a crazy person. None of this made any sense. Harry cared for him, he knew that, but never in his wildest imaginings would he ever be stupid enough to think that Harry would _love_ him.

“Yes, Severus, that is what that means,” Granger said, her tone one that he would expect to be directed at someone who was in danger of taking off their trousers and running down the quidditch pitch.

“Harry’s not in love with me,” he said firmly, not entirely managing to hide the thread of pain in his voice.

“Has he told you that?” Granger asked, leaning back into Draco where he had come up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Of course not,” Severus said snidely.

“Well then we’re going to have to operate off the evidence we do have then” she answered practically.

“One, his patronus changed and the only person in his life it could represent is you. Two, he doesn’t spend time with anyone else. And three, he told me he’s in love with you and thinks you’ve figured it out and are rejecting him in the most vindictive way possible.”

Severus had opened his mouth to respond to her first two points but snapped it shut. He found himself standing very still as if he moved too quickly this moment would show its fragility and shatter around him. Something that felt dangerously like hope washed away the biting pain that had been in his chest since his class.

“If you are lying you will tell me now Ms. Granger” he choked out in a voice that sounded nothing like his own.

Her hand wrapped around his and squeezed “I wouldn’t. And I think you know me well enough to know that” she answered.

Elation and terror surged through him and he felt his knees shake as he stared at the two in front of him blankly.

“I appreciate your visit, but I would like to be alone right now,” he finally said, his eyes flicking to the bedroom door and back.

Granger nodded, a small smile on her face as she pulled the cloak over herself. Draco paused on his way to join her, his hand falling on Severus’ shoulder.

“Try not to be stupid about this ok? Because if you are both of us will tell him how you feel about him and he’ll have to fix it but he’ll be mad about it the whole time.” Draco said flatly.

They were out the door and gone before he thought of a response. He slowly sat in front of the fire, trying to quiet the scramble of thoughts.

If Harry really did love him then it would be so much worse. He grimaced at the pressure of the small bottle of poison in his pocket that felt like it weighed as much as the castle.

If he was a good man he would make Harry hate him. He would make him believe that he was intentionally rejecting him, that he was disgusted by the thought of anything between them.

But he wasn’t a good man and he didn’t think he had ever been so relieved to acknowledge that.

He wouldn’t… he couldn’t push anything. Despite everything, Harry was still his student, even if he was a legal adult. Severus didn’t even know how one conducted a relationship and how one went from wanting someone to having them to anything even remotely physical was a complete mystery.

He could love him though. He could do so without saying anything so obvious, but if Harry did love him, he could be selfish, just for a little while. He could revel in someone so utterly beautiful wanting him, wanting him so much that he was Harry’s happiest thought.

Severus felt a tiny well of guilt at the thought that his patronus hadn’t changed. He frowned in consideration as he remembered seeing his doe flicker oddly on occasion and that it was strangely dim when he had called it last for class, something he’d never heard of.

Severus gave the closed bedroom door a considering look before he surreptitiously slid his wand into his hand. He closed his eyes and pulled up the memory of Lily, running through the park, her red hair flying like a banner behind her and her delicate laugh ringing around him. It was old and faded, but still warm. The happiness that he’d found in his one friend still filled him, like a favorite sweater, comforting and loved but soft. Mild. Not something that should call a patronus.

Severus scowled in puzzlement. He reached again, looking instead for the core memory, the one that was strongest and personified his happiness.

It was easy to find and not at all surprising. He was right there, green eyes and infectious laughter. Leaping over the couch to chase him for stolen candy, falling to his knees with tears streaking down his face and the memory of Draco’s pain etched into his eyes. Covered in serpent blood and covered in rain and soot. Running warm hands through his hair and waking to find them so tangled in each other that he couldn’t tell where they ended.

Merlin, he was an idiot if he thought for even a second that he could choose not to love him.

Why then hadn’t his changed? He rolled his wand from hand to hand as he considered. Perhaps it was simply habit? He knew the feel of the magic and could force it? That didn’t feel right though.

His patronus was a doe because Lily’s was. And Lily’s was only a doe because Potter’s was a stag…

“Well then” he muttered, feeling like an idiot. He was damn lucky Harry’s patronus had been a stag else his likely would have changed long before he was ready to accept it. Even then it had wavered, but it had kept its form, matching Harry’s.

He doubted that it would be so obliging now that Harry’s had changed to represent him.

Severus bit his lip and cast another glance at the door before renewing the silencing charm. Better to know now than in front of a class. At least the raven wasn’t obvious.

He reached inward and pulled at his memories of Harry, wrapping them around himself, and Granger's voice saying ‘he told me he’s in love with you’.

“_Expecto Patronum,_” he said quietly.

An enormous winged shape burst from his wand and shook itself off before sitting neatly and tucking its tail around huge clawed feet. It glowed so brightly it lit up the room and he had to blink rapidly to clear the spots from his vision.

He finally made out the shape of the creature in front of him and choked on a laughing groan. Merlin, he was glad he hadn’t tried this in front of anyone.

The wings of the silvery gryffon mantled slightly, the wickedly curved beak tall enough to rest atop his head. He stood and stepped forward to greet his new patronus, letting his hand ghost over the top of the ruffled neck feathers, warmth and an overwhelming feeling of _Harry_ filling him at the touch of it.

He let go of the magic and watched it fade slowly. When the last sparking filaments fell to the floor he turned and went to find the man he loved.

* * *

Harry had heard the knock on the door, despite the music he had drifting out of the radio next to him. He ignored it, not willing to go into the other room unless he was explicitly invited. Severus had been so mad since his patronus changed he almost seemed like the potions master Harry had known as a child.

Hermione had tried to tell him that Severus was upset because he thought Harry was in love with someone else, but that hadn’t made any sense to Harry. Why would Severus be upset at the thought that Harry was interested in one of his year mates? He had finally just forbidden her and Ron from talking about it, prepared to drown in his misery.

She had finally reluctantly agreed that perhaps he was just handling the idea of his student being attracted to him badly and left it alone, though the worried looks she turned on him whenever she thought he wasn't looking didn't decrease.

It took Harry a few minutes to realise that he couldn’t hear anything in the other room and he paused, considering for a moment the merits of eavesdropping. He dismissed the idea and went back to his charms text, resolutely not thinking of Severus and how much he wished he could go out and ask him to clarify Flitwick’s explanation. Or ask him about his newest potion. Or just have tea and talk about whatever caught their fancy.

Merlin Harry missed him. He missed his friend just as much as he missed the warmth of him at night, just as much as he missed the trust that seemed to have been thrown away the instant he cast that bloody charm.

He should have pretended he couldn’t cast it the instant he realised that something was wrong. He could have apologized and looked like a bit of an arse but that would have been such a small price to pay to keep what he’d had.

Harry didn’t know how much time had passed before the door slowly creaked open, admitting a strangely blank faced Severus. Harry clenched his jaw and turned back to his book, trying to focus and figure out what the hell he’d read last.

“Harry” Severus’ voice startled him after over a week of being pointedly ignored.

“Oh are you speaking to me again?” he couldn’t stop himself from snapping, the hurt of the whole situation had sunk deep.

Silence greeted him and he felt his stomach sink, already regretting his words. When he looked up Severus was standing beside the bed, his dark eyes locked on where his hand was rubbing back and forth over the leather cuff Harry had given him. Maybe he was considering poisoning him to get free.

“I’m sorry” the words were said so quietly that Harry thought for a moment he had imagined them.

A black gaze filled with misery met his and everything in him wanted to pull Severus to him and never let go. He couldn’t though. No matter how sorry for his behavior he might be that didn’t give Harry the right to touch him, something he had taken for granted up until he didn’t have it anymore.

“Alright,” Harry said, resigned.

Severus frowned and climbed onto the bed, shucking his boots and crawling close to Harry before tucking his stocking feet under himself and wrinkling his perfectly pressed trousers.

“No, it’s not alright. I was terrible to you for no reason.” Severus explained.

Now it was Harry’s turn to frown. “What do you mean, no reason?” He barely stopped himself from mentioning his feelings, a tiny part still hoping that Severus wasn’t completely convinced that he was the cause of Harry’s sudden manifestation of winged things.

Severus flushed, his pale cheeks turning splotchy. “I thought your patronus changed because you’d fallen in love with.. well it hardly matters.”

Severus looked away, still fiddling with the tiny straps on his cuff.

“Suffice to say that there was a misunderstanding that has been cleared up,” he answered stiffly.

Harry opened his mouth to keep arguing, not able to think of what could be so misunderstood, but hesitated, not completely willing to throw away his sudden good luck.

“Please Harry. I can explain it, but not right now” Severus said quietly.

Slowly Harry nodded, eyes fixed on the pleading expression on Severus’ face.

“Alright. When?” he asked, still unhappy.

“This summer. I’ll explain everything this summer” the older man said eventually.

Harry couldn’t let go of his suspicion but nodded again slowly. “And whatever this was won’t happen again before we can talk, right?” he asked, needing reassurance.

“No Harry it won’t. And I’m sorry, truly” he said, shifting to press slightly closer.

“So we’re ok?” Harry couldn’t stop himself from asking, needing to know that he hadn’t lost one of the most important things in his life.

“Yes, we’re ok” Severus answered, finally moving to take his side of the bed and picking up his newest potions monthly. He settled himself tightly to Harry’s side, pressing a warm line from shoulder to ankle before opening his journal.

Harry wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, book falling open on his chest; all he knew was when he woke in the middle of the night with warm arms tight around him, was that everything was exactly as it should be.

* * *

The sharp crack of a dissipating Bat Bogey hex echoed around the room, the pale blue light flashing against Harry’s shield. He grinned through the afterimage at the group arranged around him and Severus. Ginny’s hex hadn’t come anywhere near them, none of them had.

It had taken all of April and most of May before he had learned to work with his and Severus’ magic during a fight, but where reaching his magic out to find the other man had once been draining, it was now second nature. He’d practiced nearly every day, at first wrapping his magic closely around the other man for only a few minutes at a time, but quickly pushing himself to keep it longer.

He could push his magic out now without a thought, and he seemed to reach for Severus automatically. He could feel when Severus was getting ready to cast, could feel his intent, could even feel what type of curse it would be half the time. It made it laughably easy to drop their shields in just the right spot, at just the right instant to let the other man’s magic through.

The whole room had come to a halt when Severus and Harry pulled fifteen of the most experienced DA members to attack them. They were down to less than half now, only ten minutes into practice.

The niggling feeling of gathering magic alerted Harry seconds before Severus cast, allowing him to drop a tiny section of their shield right in front of Ginny. The stunner caught her in the shoulder and spun her as she fell to the soft mats with a muffled thud.

Dean trudged over and collected her, waking her and taking her over to the wall of fallen students.

It only took them another few minutes to clear out everyone except Hermione, who had gotten impressively fast at dodging. When Neville went down to a well placed Jelly Legs jinx from Harry, she raised her hands in surrender, slipping her wand into the thin pocket of her jeans.

Harry dropped the shield and grinned at Severus, who gave him a small satisfied smile in return and came over to stand close enough to bump shoulders.

Harry evaluated the wall of his year mates who had taken them on, as well as the scatter of the rest of the DA, who had all paused in their own practice to watch. The only injury was Luna, who had landed badly on her wrist when Severus caught her with a body binding curse, and Neville was already carefully apply a healing charm.

“I think we did alright,” Harry said, earning himself a wash of grumbling and dirty looks from everyone except Severus.

Hermione rolled her eyes but looked between them with satisfaction before she turned and began herding everyone back to their practice areas. As she raised her arm to direct a gaggle of fourth years toward a group of targets, the sleeve of her robe rode up to show her arm was still violently green.

They’d run into a group of Slytherins in the hall before lunch, Malfoy in the lead with Crabbe, Goyle and a few he didn’t recognize following behind. Somewhere in the ensuing fight, Harry had watched Malfoy unobtrusively cast a shield over the top of Hermione’s, making half the spells thrown at her rebound into his group and earning himself a nasty cut on his forearm.

Malfoy himself had cast the only spell that came anywhere near Hermione, turning her skin and hair Slytherin green. She’d managed to clear off her head and most of her body, but there were a few lingering splotches. Harry imagined she could likely get everything off if she was determined, but she had seemed more amused than anything else when she’d seen the deep emerald of her curls.

Harry had finally given up his denial where Hermione and Draco were concerned, not because he was particularly happy about it, but because Hermione was. There was a contentment about her that he’d never seen before, and she smiled more than he could ever remember seeing. She seemed truly happy with the white haired git so Harry had resigned himself to being thoroughly stuck with Malfoy. Between her and Severus, if they all made it out of this war, he was likely to have Malfoy as a permanent fixture in his life.

Ron was taking it harder but had backed off and hidden his moping better after Harry had warned him off of doing anything stupid.

Harry was brought back by a shriek from Seamus as the hapless Gryffindor knocked a dueling dummy over on himself and got stuck underneath it. He yelled pitifully for help until Ron managed to contain his laughter enough to levitate it away and free him.

They spent the rest of the practice time going over some of the most basic defense spells, the ones that most others were based on. If you knew the base spell and its intent you could build almost anything else. If was a good refresher for a lot of the group and very useful for those in fifth year that were a week away from OWLs.

Harry was just finishing clearing out the room, waving goodbyes to smiling sweaty students, when a tiny paper bird came fluttering up and landed on his outstretched hand. He quickly unfolded it to reveal the familiar neat calligraphy. He was only moderately aware of Severus, Hermione, and Ron all craning their heads to look at Dumbledore’s note.

_ Harry,_

_Please come to my office. It is time for us to retrieve the item we spoke of._

The note was unsigned, but it hardly needed it. Harry’s chest felt tight as he turned to look at his small group, larger by one than it had ever been but still managing to be missing the tall blond man that should be at Hermione’s side. Strange how quickly they had grown from a Trio.

It was still early, the dueling practice scheduled at the last minute, the grey rainy Saturday encouraging everyone to stay inside. Harry looked helplessly down at himself, feeling like he should change into something more official, but then again he had spent most of his life beating Voldemort in second hand clothes and worn trainers. His boots and stained jeans would do fine, and anything else he could need was in his cuff.

He nodded to himself before turning to Hermione “Keep the cloak out where I can summon it easily if I need to, ok?”

She nodded rapidly in agreement “I’ll let Draco know” she said. “Be careful” she finished, pulling Harry into a quick hug before releasing him and doing the same to a startled Severus.

Harry hugged Ron quickly and was almost laughed at the look of relief on Severus’ face when Ron turned away without trying to hug him as well.

They left quickly, the walk to the Headmaster’s office faster than he could remember it every being. When they got there, the gargoyle stepped aside, clearly expecting them. Severus stopped him just before he could step onto the moving stairs.

“Send Minerva a message and let her know what’s happening. I suspect that Albus has not informed her and I would like her to know that the Headmaster will not be in residence for several hours” he instructed.

Harry opened his mouth to ask why Severus didn’t just send his patronus, but closed it and summoned his raven quickly. He wasn’t going to start any sort of patronus related argument unless he absolutely had to. They had just finally gotten back to where they were before the incident.

“Please tell Professor McGonagall that we are leaving with the Headmaster, and make certain that she is alone before you tell her” he advised, stepping back to watch the huge bird wing off through the floor after it gave him a weirdly condescending look. Of course, he should have known any patronus created on thoughts of Snape would be judgmental.

He thought he heard a snort of stifled laughter behind him and turned to find Severus looking suspiciously innocent as he motioned for Harry to proceed him up the stairs.

Dumbledore was seated behind his desk when they arrived, looking older than Harry could remember ever seeing him. He stood with a forced smile as they came in, tucking his wand away.

“Are you ready then?” he asked in lieu of a greeting, casting a look over their rumpled robes and Severus’ long hair, still pulled into a tail at the nape of his neck.

“Yeah I think so” Harry answered when it became clear that Severus had no intention of picking up the conversation.

“Well then, no reason to delay is there?” Dumbledore said before motioning them toward the door. Harry glanced back just as they were stepping onto the stairs to see the Headmaster stop beside the stand that Fawkes was perched on and reach out to carefully stroke the fiery bird. He muttered something that made the animal coo sadly and rub his beak over his humans cheek.

A moment later and the moving stairs turned, hiding the picture of wizard and phoenix from him.

They waited next to the gargoyle for Dumbledore to join them, sharing a single look of trepidation. Eventually, the Headmaster arrived, his robes for once a reasonable sage green with low, understated embroidery. Somehow that small fact alarmed Harry more than anything else had.

They made their way through the school, encountering surprisingly few students as they trekked to the edge of the wards. They stopped at the apparation point just inside the forbidden forest. Harry and Severus braced themselves as Dumbledore grabbed Harry’s shoulder and motioned for Severus to take his bad arm.

An instant later and they were away, compressing down to nothing as magic tore them from one place and dropped them into another, the sharp crack of displaced air louder with the extra burden of two people.

Icy salt spray hit Harry’s face and made him sputter. He stumbled back a few steps on the slippery rocks, only for Severus to catch before he could fall into the heaving sea.

“Where are we?” Severus yelled over the sound of crashing waves, looking mutinous when Dumbledore ignored him and motioned them to follow him. The old man walked surprisingly nimbly over the wet stones and abruptly disappeared. Harry hurried forward to find that an outcropping had blocked his view of the mouth of a large cave, the waves slowing as they poured over the sand and sharp stones that made up the floor.

A thin walkway led to the back of the cave, where Dumbledore was resolutely walking toward. They skirted the clear, chill water that lapped hungrily at the toes of their boots and left a film of salt along the bottoms of their robes before coming to a halt in front of a blank stretch of smooth stone.

Before Harry could voice any of his questions Dumbledore used his wand to cut a shallow slice on the back of his hand and reached out to smear it over the wall of the cave, whispering something too softly to hear.

With a low rumble, the wall shifted and began to sink into the ground, leaving a gaping maw of darkness in its place. A gust of air that carried the sickly sweet smell of decay rushed out, making Harry gag and cough.

“_Lumos Maxima_” Dumbledore uttered, sending a huge glowing sphere into the open space. He repeated the spell until the entrance was lit enough to prevent a bad fall over the uneven ground.

They walked in, an unspoken agreement keeping everyone silent.

The flickering white light revealed the glassy surface of a still lake, and a small island sitting directly in the middle. What appeared to be a rough-hewn stand held pride of place in the center of the rocky isle, with no obvious way to traverse the lake to it. Harry could already feel the dampening effects of anti-apparation wards. Perhaps he could freeze a path over the water?

“I believe that we will need transportation my boys,” Albus said quietly, pointing one age spotted finger at a rusty chain that was anchored into the rock at the edge of the lake.

Severus shot Dumbledore an unhappy look but clambered down and began pulling on the chain. Harry joined him a moment later and together they pulled a small boat out of the lake. It surfaced completely dry, it’s wood warped and unfinished, splinters standing along the edges, ready to bite in and spill the blood of those foolish enough to launch themselves onto the water.

Harry’s eyes met Severus’ and they shared one long, doubt filled look before climbing into the small boat after Dumbledore.

As soon as they were all seated the boat began moving steadily toward the island. A flash of movement caught Harry’s eye, the pale colour reflecting under the oily looking water.

“There’s something in the water,” he said softly to Severus.

The taller man immediately leaned over the edge of the boat to peer into the murky depths. He squinted, trying to make out anything moving. He made a frustrated noise before pointing his wand over the edge and sending a glowing lumos deep into the lake.

His sharp gasp sounded like a slap in the still air, and he spun to look at Harry with wide, alarmed eyes. One long arm snapped out and dragged Harry closer to the middle of the seat, as far away from the edge of the boat as he could get. Severus kept his arm tightly around Harry, refusing to shift away, as if he was afraid Harry would throw himself into the water if he didn’t have hold of him.

“What is it?” Harry asked, trying to tamp down on the fear crawling up his throat.

“Inferi,” he said softly.

Harry felt his skin crawl and unconsciously pressed himself more tightly to Severus. He knew what they were, they had learned about them in Defense years ago, but raising the dead was strictly forbidden and extremely complicated. That Riddle had done it wasn’t really surprising, but the fact that he’d filled a lake with reanimated corpses was a bit much for even the Dark Lord.

They reached the edge of the island with a mild thump as the front of the boat collided lightly with a large rock. They climbed out carefully, one at a time, steadying the boat as each of them stood. Severus kept a death grip on Harry’s robes until he was safely on land again.

A cursory search turned up nothing of interest besides the short stone pillar. It had a shallow depression in the top as if a giant had pressed its thumb into the stone. At the bottom of the divet was the locket from the memory, covered in a clear liquid. A small stone cup sat on the side, empty.

They stood around it in silence until Severus abruptly opened his cuff and summoned his dragonhide gloves out. He pulled them on and without hesitance plunged his hand into the liquid to grab the locket. Harry started forward to jerk him back, not knowing what kind of poison and caustic chemicals could be in the basin.

He pulled up short when nothing happened, breath rushing from him when Severus’ hand emerged unscathed. Harry frowned down into the basin, seeing that the locket hadn’t moved despite Severus running his hand over it. The potions master humphed and summoned a small bottle of something that glittered like the top of an oil slick and pour two drops into the basin.

For an instant, nothing happened, the potion sinking into the liquid covering the Horcrux with spiraling swirls.

Then the surface bubbled lightly, the only warning they got before the entire basin caught fire with a whoosh of heat.

It was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared and Harry turned shocked eyes on Severus.

“Was it supposed to do that?” he asked, blinking the after image of flames away.

“No” Severus answered, looking rather alarmed himself. “The protection spells on this are significant. I have a potion to destroy the Horcruxes but if that is how it reacted to a simple potion drying mixture I fear what would happen if I were to put anything with Basilisk venom in.”

“I fear that would be rather foolish dear boy” Dumbledore chimed in, making Harry jump. He’d almost forgotten that the Headmaster was there, he had been so quiet.

“If I am not mistaken this potion is meant to be drunk,” the old man said, already reaching for the cup.

“It will kill you” Severus hissed, trying to grab the cup from Dumbledore.

“Most likely, yes,” Albus said agreeably. “But we all know that I do not have much time left on this earth, and if you help me to drink it it will fulfill your oath if I am unable to make it back for Mr. Malfoy to finish the job.”

Severus froze, looking stricken. His eyes flickered to Harry before he shook his head mutely.

“I am not ready,” he said, his voice full of pain and pleading.

Dumbledore gave him a small sad smile as he glanced between the two of them. “I fear that you may never be ready my boy. We are so very rarely prepared to leave when we must.”

Harry blinked in confusion, feeling like he was missing a part of the conversation.

Severus closed dark eyes, his whole self radiating despair. Unthinkingly Harry brushed his knuckles over the other man’s, falling back into his habitual method of discrete comfort.

Severus looked at him with eyes that were too wet and laced his fingers through Harry’s before he nodded at Albus.

The Headmaster turned and resolutely filled the stone cup, bringing it to his lips without hesitation. He drank it down quickly and grimaced, doubling over for a moment before he got control of himself and reached a shaking hand for the next cup full.

They watched as he drank poison, killing one of the greatest wizards in history for a slim chance to murder his darker counterpart. He made it through almost half of the basin before he collapsed beside it, eyes fever bright.

Severus untangled their hands and stepped forward, taking the cup from the weakened man. He filled it again and held it to Albus’ mouth, pouring poison down the waiting throat.

It took three more cups before Dumbledore tried to refuse, his words mumbled and confused as he pushed ineffectively at Severus and begged for water.

Harry eyed the lake reluctantly when his aguamenti spell failed to fill a cup from his cuff. He put the cup away when he realised that even if he could get away before an inferi grabbed him all he would have to show for it would be a cup filled with corpse water.

Instead, he joined Severus, meaningless promises falling from his lips as he helped to push the last few cups down the nearly insensible man.

Then it was done. Harry reached in and picked up the locket carefully, frowning when he felt it. It felt nothing like the diary. It just felt like a normal object, dead and cold.

“Harry, we need to go” Severus broke into his thoughts. He turned to find the taller man already supporting Dumbledore and nearly carrying him to the boat.

Harry followed quickly, stepping into the boat just as it began to move. A spike of fear at the idea of being left on the island made him throw himself onto the nearest seat, making the rickety vessel rock alarmingly.

Severus glared at him as he pulled a small box from his cuff and held it out for Harry to put the Horcrux in.

He dropped the locket in and watched as the lid was snapped shut, Severus spelling it closed and putting the whole contraption back into the expanded space.

Harry quelled the urge to snatch it back and open it, to see if the awful doubt that was rising in him was right.

They made it out of the cave with little fanfare, though Severus did pause for an instant and pour something onto the seams of the wall after it had closed, making it flash gold and rock to run like liquid, sealing the entrance.

They arrived just outside the gates with a crack, Harry staggering under Dumbledore’s weight.

It was dark at Hogwarts, the late spring night unusually chilly. They started to make their way slowly back to the castle and came through the gates before they drew to an abrupt halt.

All three seemed to notice it at the same time, the glowing mesmorde writhing in the clouds above the graceful spires of the castle, swirling around the Astronomy tower.

Harry turned to look at Severus, horror on his face. Without a word they moved together toward Hogwarts, trying to get Dumbledore to Madam Pomfrey as quickly as possible and deal with whatever had happened in the brief few hours of their absence.

Their walk was a tangle of dragging limbs, slow and stilted as boots found every hole and rut in the long drive, the shadows sporadically blocking the moonlight and confusing their balance further.

Albus slowed, the toes of his boots digging shallow valleys on the dirt as he stumbled, finally pulling them to a halt.

“It’s time my boys.” He said weakly. “We need to get to the tower and I’m afraid I may not make it without some small bit of help.” The old man smiled gently at them and Harry just felt like screaming. He could see the pain in Severus’ eyes, and he knew how much this would hurt him, despite the souring of their relationship.

Harry took a deep breath and reached out, fingers tangling with Severus’. They shared a look filled with a thousand things before they turned and resolutely began moving toward the castle again.

Harry flicked his wand, wordlessly levitating Dumbledore, speeding up as the old man sagged in relief. He felt Severus’ magic as a disillusionment fell over them, so when they came across the first group of fighting they were completely ignored.

Severus hit the two Death Eaters with some sort of hideous cutting hex, sending them both down with severed muscles in their backs and legs no longer able to hold them upright as blood pooled around them.

The group of DA students that Harry hadn’t recognized at first all looked a little green but nodded toward their suddenly revealed Defense Professor with respect. They turned to head down the hall toward the crash of another group fighting, automatically falling into a loose triangle, shields already up and overlapping.

Harry and Severus ran up the stairs, Dumbledore floating along with them. Harry could hear the old man struggling to breathe and the very real concern that he would die before they could carry out their plan was growing.

They dodged groups of students running down the stairs, upper years grouping around the children and herding them toward whichever common room was nearest, trying to get them to a safe area regardless of which house they belonged to.

They rushed past several DA members, who paused and yelled for instruction, all of them receiving the same terse order from Severus to get the other students to safety and keep out of the way if possible.

They paused halfway up the tower, struggling to catch their breath before they had to handle whatever was waiting for them.

“Harry, my dear boy, I believe I will need to do the rest of this alone,” Dumbledore spoke, his voice sounding stronger than it had since before their trip to the cave.

Harry froze, his mind knowing he should lower the Headmaster and step back but his body refusing to obey. He stood on the stairs, silent and still in his quiet grief until a warm hand closed gently over his shoulder, Severus drawing him close.

Ink dark eyes met his and with a low sound of pain, he carefully released the levitation spell, gently lowering Dumbledore until his dusty boots came to rest on the steps.

The sound of running feet brought their wands around, only for them to drop when Hermione and Draco appeared, both covered in what looked like marble dust and small splatters of blood.

“We saw you coming across the lawn” Hermione explained.

“What happened?” Severus snapped, only for Dumbledore to hold up his hand to stop any explanation.

“Right now it is more important to deal with the problems at hand, rather than the why. Draco, I do believe that it is time if you are still willing” Dumbledore said.

A flash of fear crossed the Slytherins face before he blanked it and nodded. “I’ll go up first, I think Bellatrix is up there” he answered, his fingers clenching white around his wand.

Abruptly he leaned down and pressed a painfully fierce kiss to Hermione’s mouth, his pale hands bracketing her face “See you on the other side of this” he whispered as he pulled back.

Tears welled in her brown eyes as she kissed him back just as fiercely. “You had damn well better be there at the end Malfoy, or I’ll never forgive you” she responded, hands gripping his wrists. “Be safe,” she said as he tore himself away and took the stairs two at a time, disappearing to the top of the tower.

Dumbledore slowly ascended the stairs after him, his steps almost stately. Before he could get more than a few stairs up, Harry pulled him to a gentle stop and wrapped his arms tightly around the thin chest that had wasted away months ago from the curse. Dumbledore’s hands came up to stroke his back.

“Thank you. For everything” Harry finally said, letting go.

Dumbledore nodded, tears making his blue eyes shine in the dim light of the tower. He nodded slowly to Severus and gave Hermione a small smile before he turned and resumed his journey up the staircase.

Hermione pulled the invisibility cloak out and flung it over herself. Severus cast a disillusionment on himself and Harry and followed them up the steps.

They arrived just in time to catch a glimpse of Dumbledore walking toward a whole group of Death Eaters, Draco standing tall at the front, his wand pointed at the Headmaster.

Harry ducked into a niche in the tower, Severus following him. Hermione kept the cloak and moved toward the other side, ready to surround the group if something went wrong.

They waited in silence as Dumbledore drew to a halt in front of the dark wizards.

“Who let you into my school?” he asked calmly.

Harry could hear the sneer in Bellatrix’s voice when she answered “Why does it matter? It changes nothing, old man.”

“Was it you Draco?” he asked, ignoring the witch.

“It was Nott. Malfoy here hasn’t managed to do anything the Dark Lord asked of him” one of the other Death Eaters answered, satisfaction at Malfoy’s failure filling his voice.

Silence followed the announcement, broken only by the whisper soft curse from Severus.

“And what are you planning on doing with that wand Mr. Malfoy?” Dumbledore asked, his voice noticeably weaker. He was dying, Harry could hear it. Draco needed to make a move now if he was going to go through with it.

“Following my Lord’s commands of course” came the answer, the voice snide and nothing like the quiet tone of his promises to Hermione.

“Mr. Malfoy, we both know you cannot…” Dumbledore’s voice pitched for provocation, cut off at the sharp, cold words from Malfoy.

“Avada Kedavra”

A flash of sickly green light lit the small alcove where they were hidden, followed by Bellatrix crowing in triumph and the sound of the group fleeing down the tower.

Severus let out a tiny, involuntary whimper and slid down the wall, his hand scrabbling for something in his pocket.

Harry knelt by him, noticing the pallor of his skin.

“Severus? What’s wrong” Harry hissed, a spike of fear hitting him.

“The magic that has been blocking the bond to the Dark Lord was held by Albus” he whispered, pain starting to leak into his eyes.

“What?” Harry said, horrified.

Severus had finally pulled a small bottle from his robes, the deep blue potion sloshing with the shake of his hands.

“I can feel the block dissolving, we do not have much time,” Severus said as he fumbled the potion open.

“What is that?” Harry asked, something frantic bubbling up in him.

“A potion that should harm the Dark Lord through the bond” Severus answered, his voice calming as he raised it to his lips.

Alarms started clamoring in Harry’s head, the pain and near death that Severus had experienced before Dumbledore had managed to save them flashing through his mind.

It was the look on Severus’ face that did it though. The silent apology in his eyes. If Harry had spent any less time with him, if he had watched him any less, if he had loved him any less, he never would have seen it.

Without another thought Harry reached out and slapped the potion from Severus’ hand, sending it spilling across the floor where it hissed and ate at the stone.

They both froze, silently watching the poison etch into the floor.

“You were going to poison yourself” Harry whispered, shock making his hands shake.

“Of course I was you idiot, it would have freed you. It would have saved you from him. Now he’ll kill us both” Severus answered, furious. He fumbled for his wand, planning Merlin knows what, only for Harry to wrestle it from him.

“Harry, give that back. This is the only way. there is no need for us both to die” Severus said, his tone a forced sort of reasonable.

“You were going to kill yourself. You were going to leave me” Harry said brokenly, barely aware of the words falling from his mouth.

Severus’ face tightened in pain and his right hand reached over his body to clutch at his forearm.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t let you die. Not when I had the power to stop it” Severus said desperately.

Severus slid further down the wall, his breathing tight. “Harry you have to let me go. You are the one that matters. Please, just let me save you” he begged.

A beat of silence filled the small chill corner they had stuffed themselves into as Harry leaned over the prone body of the man he loved more than anything, more than the whole of the wizarding world.

Pure unadulterated rage rushed into him, shoving the shock away. His magic welled up, following tight to the tail of his anger and filling him with the same rolling beat of the ocean he had felt once before.

“No” he whispered fiercely. “He doesn’t get to have you too.”

He leaned down, meeting confused black eyes as instant before he pressed their lips together.

Just for an instant, for an eternity, the world fell away as Harry felt a large, warm hand thread through the hair at the base of his neck and pull him closer. His heartbeat painfully hard as Severus kissed him back desperately, both of them putting everything they hadn’t said into the feel of each other.

Then Severus’ spine arched with pain, tearing him away from Harry, his teeth clenched so tightly that Harry thought they might break.

Harry reached out and shoved Severus’ left sleeve up, and acting on instinct, pressed his palm to the blackness of the Dark Mark.

He remembered what it felt like to push power into the body under his. He remembered the barrier that had stood so tightly between them, limiting the flow of his magic to a trickle. It seemed so simple now to reach out along the lines of the metal bracelets and shatter that barrier.

Harry bowed his head to Severus heaving chest and _pushed_.

He pushed everything he had, everything he was, down the thin line of magic connecting them to Voldemort.

He pushed his pain at the loss of so much of his family, his rage at the terror on the faces of the muggles he had saved, and his love for his self made family, his absolute refusal to accept that the price of winning this war was the loss of Severus.

Power screamed out of him, burning through the Dark Mark like a sea of fire. It hit the thread that Riddle was using to greedily pull Severus’ magic, and his life, from him.

Harry felt his power follow that thread, burning it to ashes behind the wave of magic. He felt it the instant it hit Riddle. A flash of agony and a distant scream echoed in his head as the Dark Lord recoiled.

Harry smiled down at the man under him, his head feeling oddly fuzzy and detached. He felt something trickling down his ear and reached up, confused when he pulled his hand away and found it covered in bright red.

The last thing he saw was Severus’ face, filled with terror.

* * *

He woke in the hospital wing, the loud bustled of Poppy checking on patients drawing him out of dreams of pain and confusion.

He blinked black eyes up at the ceiling, trying to remember how he had landed himself there. He shifted his hand slightly before he realised that the pressure he felt on it was someone holding onto him.

Everything came crashing back in a wave of pain and fear. Severus whipped his head to the side, eyes tracing over Harry’s still face, trying to find any evidence of the blood that had poured from his nose and ears, relaxing as he saw no sign of injury.

He shifted to touch Harry and hissed in pain as he put pressure on his left arm. He glanced down in surprise to find his Dark Mark swathed in bandages. The silver cuff poked out of the edge of the bandage, resting against its match on Harry’s wrist. More than half the ruins along both of them were a dark, tarnished black and had stopped moving. The few that were still silver twisted the same way they always had.

Harry lay completely still, his face pale and deep purple bruises under his eyes. Both of their wands were on the table next to Severus when he looked for them, and he reached out to summon Poppy. A small light burst from the tip of his wand and flew up to hover over the tops of their curtain walls.

A few moments later the scuff of feet encased in sensible shoes came, heading in their direction.

Poppy slipped around the corner, her face haggard and grey hair limp.

“Severus” she whispered, a small but genuine smile catching on her mouth.

He cast a fast silencing charm over Harry to prevent him waking, dread already welling in his chest. He’d never seen the resident healer so worn.

“What happened?” he asked in a normal volume.

“I was rather hoping you’d be able to tell me” she answered, sinking onto the hardback chair next to him. “How are you feeling?”

He grimaced as he rolled his left wrist slightly, careful not to move too much and dislodge Harry’s hand where it was linked with his.

“Not terrible, though my arm is not comfortable,” he answered.

Poppy huffed “I would think not,” she said as she leaned over to carefully tease the bandages away, not mentioning the tight grip that Harry had on him. “It’s a miracle you still have an arm after this young man shoved enough magic to level half the castle through it.”

Severus swallowed heavily, choosing to ignore her in favor of inspecting his arm. The last of the gauze fell away to show the reddened, raw skin underneath.

He sucked a sharp breath through his teeth at the sight of the faded mark on his arm. Under the angry, burned skin the Dark Mark was no longer sharp and crisp. Instead, it ran like a smudged watercolour, the lines soft and blurred.

Unthinkingly his mind reached for the connection to the Dark Lord that he had carried for half his life and found only blank space. There was no curse in his arm any longer, nothing but his skin and bone and magic.

“As near as we can tell he tore out the magic that tied you to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named” Poppy said, answering his unspoken question. “It nearly killed him to do it, but you’re free.” Her words carried the faintest hint of accusation, making him jerk his eyes to meet hers.

“If you think for an instant that I allowed him to do this you are very much mistaken,” he responded coldly. “When the Headmaster died his spell broke. I was dying,” he spat. “The Dark Lord was going to kill us both. I’ve no idea what Harry did, but I was fairly certain it had killed him.”

The same flash of terror he’d felt when Harry had fallen onto his chest, bleeding everywhere, thrilled through him.

Poppy’s eyes lost some of their hardness before she turned to point her wand at Harry, bringing up the scrolling list of health diagnostics.

“How is he?” Severus asked.

“Exhausted. He almost burned his magic out saving you both. His core was so low his heart stopped twice. I barely managed to keep him with us, and it was still touch and go until this morning” she answered, missing the way he twitched and clung to Harry’s hand at her words.

“He won’t be in any form to do any magic for at least a week. He needs to eat as much as he can stomach, and he needs to sleep” she finally looked up and met his gaze. Whatever she saw there made her face soften. “He’s going to be fine Severus, just tell him to never do anything that stupid again.”

Severus gave himself a moment to let the relief that the words caused washed over him.

“And the rest of the castle?” he made himself ask.

Shockingly her face cleared and she smiled a bit. “No students died. We have more than a few injuries, and Bill Weasley is damn lucky, but the only death was one of theirs. Other than the Headmaster of course” she whispered the last, her eyes filling with tears.

“Severus, you should know that they're saying Draco did it,” she said.

He stilled, then nodded slightly in agreement.

Her eyes widened in horror “But he switched sides” she whispered furiously. “He seemed so close to Granger…” here her voice trailed off, suspicion lighting up her eyes.

“You know, if someone wanted to plant a spy and put them above reproach, the fact that Albus was dying would have been a golden opportunity,” she said, her voice neutral.

“A rumor like that could get someone killed,” he said harshly.

She nodded quickly, brown eyes lit with understanding “Of course. I’m sure nothing like that happened. I’m sure Mr. Malfoy just decided to follow in his Father’s footsteps.”

They both paused, listening to the soft shuffling of pyjamas against sheets as those injured in the Death Eaten invasion moved about in their beds.

“The funeral is in a week. The Governors have decided to cancel end of the year testing and release the students early.” Severus nodded, not surprised.

“I’ll let you get some rest” she patted his knee absently before she shuffled off to tend to whoever else was in her ward.

The next week passed in a blur of visitors and planning. Harry woke up the day after he did and immediately fell onto a plate of food with a single minded intensity that he’d only seen him show during a quidditch match.

The first few days Harry only woke sporadically, and only long enough to eat half his body weight. The magic had stripped him of any fat and a large amount of muscle, his magic having burned through the frame than housed it as it tried to answer the will of the man that wielded it.

By the end of the week and four doses of nutrient potions a day on top of as much food as he could physically eat, he looked almost back to normal. Almost. The magic seemed to have burned away the last remnants of his childhood, the slight softness that age divested a person of gone in an instant.

His cheekbones were high and sharp, his jaw hard enough to cut and barely softened by the layer of black stubble that refused to leave for more than a few hours. He looked less like James and more like Lily’s father, his face harder and more serious.

He looked like a man. And Merlin was he beautiful.

Severus knew of course that he loved Harry. But it had been an abstract idea, something that was not to be spoken of because it would just hurt more when it was time for Severus to die.

Finding himself unexpectedly alive and knowing exactly how the shape of Harry’s mouth fit perfectly over his own was driving him to distraction. Harry losing the last softness of childhood seemed to have broken some previously unknown hesitance in him. He’d woken almost every night, his thin frame tight with arousal, dreams of pale, scarred skin under his fingers.

He’d been mortified the first night he’d opened his eyes to find himself pressed tight to Harry, his body so hard he ached. He’d pushed himself away, so much blood rushing to his face that it had put a quick end to his problem.

He briefly considered reinstating his pillow barrier, but then he would have to explain to Harry that he was a lecherous old man, and he wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t just die of embarrassment if he had to have that conversation. He wasn’t willing to risk it after Harry had worked so hard to keep him alive.

By the time they were released from the hospital wing and sent back to their rooms, it was only two days to the funeral and Severus had nearly managed to convince himself that Harry didn’t even remember kissing him, or that he was being sensible and ignoring it. Either way, he would follow along with what Harry wanted.

He would have been more shocked if Harry had brought it up. No one had ever wanted him that way and deluding himself into thinking that a man who could have anyone he wanted would choose a man like him was absurd, even if he did love him.

Which was why he was fairly certain he was having an extremely vivid dream when Harry leaned over and casually kissed him goodnight the first day back to their rooms, like he did it every day and it wasn’t anything particularly remarkable.

He was so surprised that he just froze, staring at Harry with wide eyes and hardly daring to breathe.

Harry pulled away and gave him an uncertain look “Is this alright?” he asked softly, shifting back onto his side of their bed, giving Severus space.

Not trusting himself to speak in case he said something that would scare Harry off, he just nodded.

Harry gave him a small, pleased smile and leaned over to brush their lips together again. Severus saw it coming this time and made himself press back, not wanting Harry to think that he wasn’t welcome.

Harry gasped a soft laugh against his mouth at Severus’ overly enthusiastic response and brought his hands up to cradle Severus’ jaw. Harry’s tongue slipped out to trace the seam of his lips and dragged a small, involuntary noise from him.

He reluctantly pulled back, breathing hard as he tried to make his body quiet down.

“I cannot” he made himself say.

Harry raised an eyebrow in question.

“I’m still your teacher. I do not want this to start before you can consider us to be on equal footing” he explained, trying to ignore the way his body was screaming that he was an idiot.

“You’re not teaching next year and I’m not attending. We have to find the Horcruxes and finish this. The only thing that was holding Riddle back was Dumbledore” Harry said, eyes distant.

“I can wait a few weeks,” he said finally, green eyes smiling. With that, he tucked himself tight to Severus and closed his eyes.

It took a long time for Severus to fall asleep, but when he did his dreams were filled with warm laughter and gentle kisses.

* * *

The funeral was beautiful. The marble tomb, hewn from the same stone that liberally decorated the castle, stood with quiet grace at the edge of the lake. So many people came that those who spoke had to be amplified with the system from the quidditch pitch, else no one in the back would have been able to hear.

Harry stood silently beside Severus, surrounded by Order members and Weasley’s. Bill was recovered enough to join them, the scars that bisected his face making him hide behind the curtain of his long hair. Harry had a brief jolt when he recognized the movement from watching Severus let his hair fall forward.

Before he knew it he was watching the lid slide closed over one of the most influential and important people in his life. Harry knew what grief felt like, and knew that it was different for every person he lost. He was sad of course, but the grief wasn’t sharp. He had known that this was coming for months and had gotten his chance to say goodbye.

There was a great deal of anger from nearly everyone, the knowledge that Draco had killed Dumbledore running through the school. Harry had gotten himself together enough to make a statement to the Aurors about the murder, ensuring that Draco’s cover was as safe as he could make it. It was Severus’ statement that cemented it though. Draco made it to the top of the ministries most wanted list, and his friends were shunned, violence against Slytherins rising to an all time high.

It was only stopped from outright war by Hermione’s intervention. She’d walked into a fight between a group of fourth year Slytherins and a mixed group of every other house. By the end of it, every single student was either stunned or immobilized and she screamed at them loudly enough to be heard in the Great Hall, informing them under no uncertain terms that one persons actions did not reflect on the house.

Violence cooled to grumbles and nasty looks, but at least the hospital wing was mostly empty again.

Faster than seemed possible, the funeral was over and he was finishing his packing, getting ready to leave for Grimmauld place. They would be staying there indefinitely, using it as a base of operations for Horcrux hunting. Hermione would be joining them in a few weeks, having mentioned something about trying to keep her parents safe and needing to move them. Harry had offered to help but she had told him that Draco had already arranged everything.

As Harry picked up his handful of floo powder he looked one last time around the now empty dungeon quarters that had been more home to him than anywhere else. The front room was oddly empty, much larger than it had seemed when it was filled with books. The worn couch that he had slept curled up with Severus so often seemed lonely without its blanket and the clutter of their life.

With one last fond look, Harry threw the powder into the fire and stepped in with Severus.


End file.
